Growing
by Cat7
Summary: Estel, at nine years old, has to learn some hard lessons. Finally complete!
1. Growing

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(A/N In reviewing this writing, I have a feeling this should be a stand-alone chapter, since it is set a year in advance of the rest of the story. It was also my first attempt and I hope it will not discourage you from trying out what follows.)

I watch him. In the last months his legs have grown more than the rest of him, so that he seems perched on them, and to be trying to relearn walking. He slouches a little, and drags one foot slightly, his boots new-made to fit his growing feet.

Where is he going now? I don't think he even sees. His attention is all inward, learning himself, listening to himself. He has so many gifts, yet he must grow into them. He sees more, hears more and understands more than other humans of his age, but he does not yet know what to do with these gifts. He plays with them, and that is all he can do as yet.

There, a big brother comes to help him with his sword practice. My youngest son insists on that ridiculously over-sized sword, nearly as tall as he is, and yet he wields it well. Elrohir is a fine swordsman, better perhaps than his twin, but Estel matches him for a moment or two, just – then. Yes. For a ten year old, he is strong in the shoulder and the arm. But his long legs are a bother to him, and he can't step back quickly enough to avoid Elrohir's parry, which almost touches him.

I settle back on the comfortable bench, watching my two sons, wondering when Estel will put down the sword and wander away to do something else. Yet there is an intensity in him this afternoon that takes even his brother by surprise. It seems he feels better in himself today. Yesterday, he was tired and moping, and I found him reading, curled round in a chair in the library, and nothing I could say could tempt him outside. He looked worn by the business of growing.

Today, though he is the bright, eager child he was at six, he is less fretful. Elrohir tries to get him to stop, to rest, but the boy labours on, trying to get at least one step closer to his older and much taller brother. I begin to wonder if Elrohir will relent and let him, but he does not. He could not cheat his brother in that way. Estel would know it and be angry. We've seen enough of that not to treat him as a minute younger than his age.

A few more moments. The boy is tiring rapidly now, and then Elrohir puts his own sword down and suddenly takes his brother in his arms. I can't see what it is that is wrong, frustration perhaps, or he could be overtired, but his face is against his brother's chest and he is sobbing. I stand, ready to do what I can if I am needed, but Elrohir waits, then glances at me, knowing I am watching. He shakes his head. This time, I am not needed.

In a little while, the brothers are talking earnestly, and Estel lays the big sword carefully on the ground. They sit down, slightly apart, and Elrohir points up into the sky. Estel looks up too, and then I know he is being told a story, for I taught the gestures that went with the story to Elrohir many hundreds of years ago. It is a good story to choose, for it can be divided into short tales, and it is a story of a hero who must fight many monsters to win his prize.

It suits Estel, though he does not know it yet. I look into his future, the faint echoes of it that I can see, and I know he will face many monsters. He will need the fire I saw as he strove against his brother with a sword that was too big for him, and a body aching with too much growth.

He is a lovely child. He is kind, and true, and honest with himself and with others. He strives to be brave and strong.

We protect him, Elrohir and Elladan and I, and in time he will grow into his strength and be whatever his destiny intends he should be.

There – Elladan joins his brothers, and they stand, and away my children go, off on some adventure, one tall twin on either side of the boy. Gone are the days when they could take him by the hands and swing him between them, making him laugh with the excitement of it. Yet, in a way, that is what they do, swing him between them, giving him all the encouragement they can, though they are half-elven and do not feel as he feels.

I hope we do him justice, and raise him well. He is the hope of the world.


	2. Ruby part 1

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no money from writing this fiction.

To those who have reviewed - thank you so much for the kind welcome to LOTR writing. It is very much appreciated.

**Angel** – Thank you! I am enjoying writing fluff, but I have a feeling it will become angsty before I know where I am.

**Viggomaniac** – yes, here I am, shortly after saying I wouldn't be. Hmmmm. I have an idea for the next part, although it's out of chronological order. Oh well. Never was the most organised person in the world.

**Aramirandme** – hey, I can do cute! But then, it's not difficult – Estel had to be one of the world's cutest children, right?

**Shirebound** – thank you so much for reviewing. I absolutely love your work and feel really honoured that you've left me a review. I have been thinking and reading for such a long time that it feels odd to be on the other side now, as it were!

**Grumpy** – thank you – I'm glad you enjoyed this little glimpse into his early days.

**Amy Earls **– thanks for following me over here! I promise, I haven't forgotten Frank. I am working hard on his story, I just haven't written it down yet! I'll try not to let Estel take over.

And a final note – I have joined the group that has abandoned Gilraen. I love stories with her and stories without her, but I felt she would clutter up the relationship I am attempting to convey so I am afraid I have left her out.

Oh – and this story is set before the last one. Don't ask me why! That's just how it is.

I wait for Glorfindel to tell his story. We do not count time as mortals count it. It is neither more nor less precious, it is just different. My youngest son has reminded me that he and I see time from opposite sides. I wonder, while I listen, whether Estel's patience will hold, as he must by now be waiting for me to come and give him his lesson for today.

Patience does not sit well with nine year old humans, even ones with Estel's heritage.

A movement catches my eye. The door is being pushed open, slowly, as if the person there does not wish to enter just yet but is preparing the way. Glorfindel pauses and follows the line of my gaze, the steady beat of his words ceasing. Our guests look for guidance as they draw themselves out of the story, some looking at the story-teller, some now at the door.

"Enter," I say, loudly.

We all wait, as the daylight falls slantways into the chamber, the silence masked by the hushed sound of a waterfall.

A figure steps into the room and stands, head up yet abashed, body straight yet bedraggled, and water is dripping from the dark green tunic onto the stone flags.

He bows, with all the dignity he can muster, and I silence my guests with a hand. No one will laugh at my boy, however ridiculous he looks. His hair falls across his face so that I can hardly make out his expression. Some part of my mind reminds me to talk to him about his braids, which he has recently taken to pulling out whenever he can.

"I apologise, Father," he says, pronouncing his words most carefully. "I need your help."

He is on his very best behaviour, and the words are stiff and stilted. I rise, and do not call him to my side, for there is something odd about the way the he stands and I do not wish to expose him any longer to the gaze of my guests. As it is, his appearance here will soon be threaded into a song.

"Very well. Glorfindel, entertain our guests. My lords, I shall return shortly." I could say something witty but it would be at my boy's expense, and I guard his feelings with care. They murmur among themselves, until Glorfindel takes up his story again and silences them. As I reach the door, I know he has almost succeeded in pulling their attention away from us, but I hold out my arm to shield Estel from their view as I guide him outside.

"What is it, Estel?"

"I truly am sorry, Father. I could have asked someone else but I needed you!"

His emotion is sudden, as if being able to tell his trouble has suddenly overwhelmed the careful guard he usually keeps over his manners.

"All is well, my child. Let us go to your room and find some dry clothes, then you may tell me what has upset you."

He walks close to me, his eyes on the ground. I wait for him to begin to speak but he says nothing more until we are safe in his bright, warm chamber.

"Remove your tunic, child. You are shivering." I turn to find him a towel and a robe to wear but his voice stops me.

"I cannot," he says. When I look at him to find an explanation of his words, I see that he is cradling his left arm, and that he is pale and sweating. I go to him quickly, and lead him to the bed, but he will not sit down.

"Sit, Estel. Tell me what is wrong with your arm."

"I don't want to sit down! The bedclothes will get wet! I spoil everything!" He is crying now, miserable beyond any misery that I have seen in him before, and I struggle to keep from questioning him too deeply. He must settle and trust me to help him. I pull an old blanket from the chest at the bottom of the bed, wrap it round his shoulders and steer him to sit on the chest, where the water can do no damage. He looks at me, crying no longer, but his breath is unsteady.

I carefully take his right hand away from his left arm, wondering what damage he has done. The sleeve is not bloodied but it is sore, this arm, though he tried to pretend it is not until I begin to examine it.

"I think it is broken, Father. Will you help me to mend it?" he says, his eyes wide.

The odd turn of expression makes me look at him. But I still watch over his tender feelings with care. "I will, Estel. Let me see if it is truly broken."

He allows me to feel over the bones. Yes, there, his forearm bone, the outer of the two, has a crack. It will mend easily. He has been lucky, and I tell him so as I help him to pull his wet tunic over his head. But my simple attempt at solace provokes more tears and he gives in to his sorrow completely as I hold him close.

"Estel," I try, after a few quiet moments. "What has happened to upset you so?"

"Ruby," he gasps. "Father, I killed Ruby."


	3. Ruby Part 2

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no money from writing this fiction.

I hope you'll forgive me these little ramblings, but I am so grateful that people are taking the time to give me encouragement and I want to say a more particular thank you to everyone. Of course you can skim past it to the story below if you want!

Drylith – yes, you dare hope! This thing seems to be taking over my life! 

**CrazyAZN Kid **- Hi! Yes, that's good advice for a lot of writers - thanks! In this case, and at the risk of losing you as a reviewer, I have to say that too much detail would not suit this first person, present tense piece – but detail is certainly an on-going discussion with my beta-reader!

**Viggomaniac **– it's growing, that's for sure! I keep telling my beta reader- 4 parts – er- 5 parts… Glad you're enjoying it and I hope this part rewards the wait!

**Amy Earls** – I think Estel heals faster than normal humans – but I don't think he can quite heal himself. Not yet, anyway! Hope the name suits the animal.

**Grumpy **– thanks – I am really enjoying these two together. There were some lovely clues in the book and the film, so it's enjoyable to flesh those out a bit.

Faerlas – I hope this is soon enough! 

**Red Minerva** – thank you very much for the welcome. I hope you enjoy the other stories – but I really must get my Hidalgo story back on its feet!

**Scurvy-dog-girl** – yup-poor Estel! He's got a lot of thinking and growing up to do this time. I wonder if Elrond can remember what it's like to be nine!

"Where are your brothers?" I cannot hide the anger in my voice, a sudden surge of unreasoned annoyance at those who should have been protecting him.

He looks up, and there is fear in his eyes, and he immediately comes to their defence. "They were there when it happened, Papa! They said – Elladan said – that he must – ease his passing, that's what he said."

"But Elrohir should have brought you home, not sent you to me! And he should have tended your arm first!" I feel the rest of his arm, to make sure all else is well, and he goes back to watching my fingers on his skin. I must remember, everything I do, he learns.

Estel is quiet for a moment, then says quietly, "I didn't tell him."

"Estel!" I put my fingers under his chin and lift his face. "Why ever not? I told you, you must say if you are hurt. We cannot just know it."

He squirms under my gaze and will not answer until I insist.

"I wanted them both to make my horse better! I thought, since they mend me sometimes, they could mend him! My arm felt all right then." I let him hang his head, and his dark hair falls forward like a mask over his face. He is still sitting in his wet leggings, and he is cold and miserable, and despite his heritage giving him strength, a broken arm still hurts.

"Here, child, let us bind this arm, and dry and dress you, and then we shall see about this horse. Perhaps it is not as bad as it seems."

He nods, and I tend to him as I have not done since he was five. I want to settle him in his bed to rest but he is not to be moved. He will see his horse, and his brothers, and know how everything is with his world before he will allow himself rest.

We walk to the stables hand in hand, he tugging me along, and shouting to his brothers as soon as we are close. There is no answer. He looks up at me, puzzled.

"We were down at the river, Papa. Perhaps they could not bring Ruby back here just yet."

Is he hoping his horse is alive? Did I put that unreasonable hope in him? "Estel – they may never be able to bring your horse back to the stables. They may let him rest there, close by the river. He loved the river as much as you."

"Rest! Yes – I hadn't thought of that! Of course, they will let him rest!"

I curse my understatements, my evasions. We set off again, Estel ahead of me now, bounding away down the hill for a few steps before the pain he carries stopped him. I catch up to him and make him stop.

"You must understand, my son. Your horse may be no more."

He half smiles, a faint remembrance of his childish laughter. Even now, at nine, he has become too serious. "Do you mean he may be dead, Papa? I know that he may. You do not have to hide it from me." And he turns away, walking more carefully now but still purposefully. We descend through the trees, whose pale green spring growth is bright in the sun. It is a beautiful place yet I cannot stand and appreciate it. There are more urgent matters at hand.

By the river bank, we find my twin sons, standing side by side, waiting for us. Estel races to them, and I know he can no longer wait for an answer. Elladan catches him and lifts him up, then sets him back on his feet. As I reach them, I can hear Elladan give him the news, without evasion.

Suddenly, my youngest begins to beat at his brother, thumping him with his left hand, and Elladan has to step back.

"Estel!" I call, anxious for a moment. "Your brother did not do this!"

Elladan looks at me as if I have gone mad. "He knows, that, Father! Let him hit out at someone! It is not fair that he could not keep his horse. You know how they loved one another."

Estel has calmed a little but will not let Elladan, or Elrohir or myself near him. He wanders away, kicking his feet through the grass, and sits himself down on a large river rock.

Elrohir reads my thoughts. "I think it is best we leave him. He will talk to us soon, I know it. He needs to learn this lesson."

"Yes," said Elladan, taking up his brother's idea. "Leave him. We will speak to him later. There is a great lesson for him to learn from today."

"How did this happen?" I ask. "How did his horse die?"

"A bear, Father. A great bear, fishing in the river. I have not seen one there for many years. We were watching him and before I knew it, Estel had jumped from his horse and begun to stalk the great animal. He will tell you he just wanted to get closer, so that he could see the bear better, but perhaps there was also the challenge of it. Before we could do anything, the bear came for him, running through the water. I shot it once with an arrow but it ran too quickly and there was nothing more we could do."

"Nothing," said Elrohir, taking up his brother's account seamlessly. "His horse was closest and despite his fear of the bear, he charged him."

"Charged him? That horse was the steadiest, kindest animal – I chose him for those qualities. How could he find it in his nature?" I ask, but I know the answer. Estel inspires that loyalty in all good creatures, and in all good men.

"He tried to catch at his horse, but he was knocked aside. We saw him fall into the water. What has he done to his arm?" Elrohir looks at the boy, whose silhouette is dark against the silver ripples of the river water.

"It is broken," I tell them, and Elladan looks me in the eye.

"Is it badly broken?" he asks, a tightening round the mouth betraying his feelings. We try to keep the boy from harm but it is a dangerous world for a small human.

"It is bound, and he will not use it for six weeks, if I can prevent it. But it will mend. It is his feelings I am concerned about. He will think too much of this accident. Look – he is tired. We must take him home. Where is his horse?" I think of the days to come and wonder if our care will be enough. The boy misses his mother. Perhaps she could have comforted him better than I.

"We took him away into the meadow and put him out of his misery there. Later, we will take Estel to see him and wish him farewell. Perhaps we could carve a headstone for him? It would make it easier for Estel to know that not all is lost, I think."

My wise sons. I can only think of my youngest son's misery, not of his healing. We stand and watch him. He has picked up some stones and is tossing them into the water. Here is a hard lesson for him to learn.

The river noise fills the valley. The sun spikes the ripples on the river. This is a beautiful place but now, it will always hold the memory of this death.

I must return hope to my boy, for I fear he has lost it.


	4. Ruby part 3

Disclaimer – as ever- the characters do not belong to me and I make no money from the writing.

Just general thanks for feedback this time – thank you so much, everyone. Your encouragement is invaluable.

It is dark now. We have lit all the candles in Estel's room since he will not rest, and now we sit with him and talk, waiting till he is too tired to resist sleep any longer. He sits cross legged on the bed in his nightshirt, and all the candles appear to me to do is throw more shadows on his face.

I am telling him the story of the tree which leans over the west courtyard, shading the paved area now. He asks me how long ago it was planted, and I say I might have to ask it since I have forgotten.

He looks at me curiously, as if he is unsure whether I am joking. "Is that something I will learn to do?" he asks. "Will they speak to me? Could I have spoken to Ruby and prevented him from defending me?"

Elladan moves behind the boy, sitting on the bed and letting Estel lean back against his shoulder. Candlelight now makes the sharp angles of his face even sharper. He is in pain but he says nothing, only waits for my answer.

"He has – he had a free will, Estel. He chose to defend you. You must not wear yourself out thinking over what has happened. You must rest."

He sighs. I know I have not given him the answer he wants, yet I cannot say more. I have promised myself and others that he shall not know his true heritage until he is of an age to understand what it means. Yet I could use the lesson of his horse's sacrifice to teach him about the way others will lay down their lives for him, unbidden, and he will have to accept that as their choice.

"What are you thinking about, Papa?" he asks, impatient for a better reply.

"I am considering whether to give you some of your favourite headache cure and order you to bed for two days. You are a stubborn boy, Estel."

He rewards my attempt to distract him with a faint smile. But I notice he has grown sleepy in the security of his brother's embrace, and he is looking less stubborn by the moment. I look at Elladan and he nods, moving back across the bed and drawing Estel with him. The boy protests mildly but is soon lying on his side snoring gently.

Elrohir begins to snuff the candles while I clear the bowls and cloths from his bedside table. Elladan stands by his brother, making sure Estel is comfortable. We leave him to sleep through his troubles.

It takes two days for him to come back to something like himself. Then I know I must talk to him about at least a few of the many matters which have disturbed me since I heard what happened.

I found him in the garden, sitting on a bench feeding some small birds which were alighting on his hand. He can be so patient that they have learned to trust him. He looks up suddenly as I walk over to him, and his sudden movement scatters them all. They perch in a tree nearby and seem to talk among themselves.

"Are you feeling better?" I ask, resisting the temptation to put my hand on his forehead. He has had no fever but better to be too careful.

"Yes, Papa," he replies, though doubtfully. "That is, I feel better than I did."

"Good," I say, smiling at his pedantry. "Are you willing to talk to me about something that has puzzled me?"

He looks down and begins to scuff at the grass. One moment he feeds my birds, the next he destroys the greensward.

"Yes, Father," he says, both duty and reluctance in his voice.

I cannot talk gently about this. It is important I discover what he meant. "Estel. When you first came to me after – after the accident, you said you had killed Ruby. Yet in the story I was told, it was clear you did no such thing. Tell me, why did you think it was so?"

He does not answer. He does not even seem to have heard the question. I wait, then lay my hand on his arm. "Do you not wish to talk about this yet, my son? Shall I leave you?"

"No!" he says, turning to me. "Do not leave me alone! I cannot answer your question but – I wish you to stay."

So I do, ignoring other matters which need my attention. We sit in the sunshine, and talk of many things, but not of his horse, or the question he cannot yet answer.

After a while, the birds return, and we feed them together. I teach him the names of two he has not seen before, and tell him where they nest, and of the great journey they make each year to visit us.

He says, "Father. Do you know everything there is to know?"

I smile. It is growing a little chilly now. "It is time to go inside. You must eat something, for you slept long and have not broken your fast. Are you truly ready to say farewell to Ruby so soon? He has been buried in state, and his grave is not yet dressed. Will you not wait until next week, at least?"

"No. No – I will go there tomorrow. I wish to know where he is. He can give me answers, I think. Perhaps he can. I hope so."

I take him by the hand and lead him indoors. I hope, too, that he will be able to settle his mind into some answers, for he is not eating well and becoming tired too quickly. I shall give him a sleeping draught tonight to keep away the night terrors, and in the morning we shall see if saying farewell to his horse solves the puzzles that are preoccupying him.

I want my untroubled boy to return to me, if he can find the way back.


	5. Ruby Part 4

Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no money from writing this fiction.

Next morning Estel is up, dressed and begging food in the kitchens before his usual hour. Elrohir and I have been wakeful most of the night searching for the right things to say, the right ceremony. We honour our horses but this must be special.

By the time we break our fast, the twins and I are ready with something we hope will suit the mood and the spirit of the ceremony. I have given orders that all others will stay away from the river this morning.

It is a damp dawn, grey and misty so that you cannot see the distance, only the path we are following. The stones underfoot are a little slippery. The birds are filling the air with their dawn chorus. It is a happy, chaotic sound, blackbirds, thrushes, robins and many more singing to the spring dawn.

Estel walks first. He has his gift carefully stowed over his left shoulder. Ruby's bridle, which he has decided must go back to his horse. Elladan removed it and had trouble finding it again. But he persevered, and now my youngest boy trails the leather and metal down his back. I believe Estel wanted to carry it on a cushion, for I found one in his room. I recognised it as his favourite, the one on which he sat as a small boy when I allowed him in the library. But his broken arm gave him only one useful hand, and he has arrived at his own solution to the problem of carrying his gift.

I walk behind him, dressed in my best robes and wearing my crown. Elrohir and Elladan follow, silent now that we approach the river, though they have been talking quietly to one another as we descended the hill. It is fortunate we can all be together. The twins must leave us in the next moon quarter.

We walk to the field and approach the mound of earth, unmarked as yet, and Estel stops close to it. He seems utterly certain about what must be done, though none of us has taught him.

He begins to speak. I look to my sons and they to me. We did not know he had remembered his own language, but he spoke it, and these are the words as I translate them in my mind.

"This is the place of my fine horse, Ruby. Keep away from him, evil creatures. Guard him, elves and men. He was a fast horse and gentle to me, and he saved me from a bear. Let him rest. Keep this place sacred through all the ages to come."

His voice is strong and certain. He holds out his funeral gift and places it on the mound, as close to its apex as he can reach.

Beside me, I hear Elladan begin the funeral song he has chosen. Estel, as if torn from a dream turns to him and then moves to stand between his two brothers, who sing now in harmony. It is a simple tune, with a chorus which Estel learns quickly and joins with his high, sweet treble voice. It is a brief song by our reckoning, but by the time it is finished the sun is dispersing the early mist and the birds are quiet again.

I had thought this time would bring peace to my boy. I go to give him my hand, for surely he will need comfort now, and he will weep.

"Estel," I say, and I kneel so that I can speak to him face to face. "It was a fine thing you said. This place will be honoured by us all through all the ages to come."

I look into his face and see not tears, not sadness but a great anger. He gathers himself and says, "Papa, no matter how much I think about it, there is no sense in his death. I did not want him to die for me! I wanted him to live and be my horse!"

He turns from me and walks away, his head down, his feet kicking at the grass. Elladan makes to follow him but for once his brother disagrees.

"He still needs time. He has barely yet begun to realise what has happened, I think. I will follow a little way behind and make sure none comes near him for a while. If he tires, I will bring him home."

His brother and I agree, and we walk back to the house, talking of other times, happy ones and sad ones, while we wait for a child's grief to run its course.

As I wait now, in the last of the twilight, I wish I had brought him home myself for neither he nor Elrohir have yet returned. Word would have been brought if anything untoward had happened to either of them, yet I am uneasy and cannot eat until they are here. The last sounds of day slip away and still they are not come home. Where are my sons?

The answer comes in the form of a message, brought just as I was preparing to go and search. It comes by word of mouth, for Elrohir had nothing with him for writing, and it is hasty. The messenger says Elrohir ran to the stable, grabbed two blankets and a knife that was lying on the harness bench and told him this: send no word till sundown. Estel and I are going adventuring. We will return in two days. I could not stop him but he has allowed me to go with him. Bruinen.

I hear him shout it in my mind, as the story is told to me. Boat. The last word he said as he ran down the hill. Boat. I gather my robes and run to the river but it rushes swiftly away, and on its surface are no boats. I find a small, dead fire, and more sign, where Elrohir has sought to reassure me that all will be well, with hastily scratched letters in the earth.

But my mind is full of questions and worries, and I watch the water slide away from me until Elladan stands beside me, then leads me home.

tbc

Once again, thanks so much for the feedback. I am hoping to continue the story soon, with Elrohir taking up the narrative.


	6. Bruinen Part 1

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I make no money from writing about them.

Elrohir takes over the story...

We slip down the silvery Bruinen. I barely need to paddle, just steer to follow the best course of the river. Father has control of these waters, to the Ford at least, so we are safe until then. I think we may go to the confluence with Mitheithel and perhaps out to Tharbad. There we might meet the ones Estel needs to see.

He is sitting with his back to me in the bow of our little boat. I know I turned his chosen path as we talked on the river bank, and he is not happy with me about that. But he could not have gone alone, with his arm broken, and no weapons, and so young still. He has been out with us once to the wild, last year, and that on horseback and only as far as the Last Bridge. That is not enough experience for what he had planned.

He tells me he was going to leave word. I am sure he would have done, too, though perhaps not in a helpful way. So we quarrelled, after a fashion, and he told me I was treating him like a child. It did no good to remind him that he is still a child, and to ask what he was proposing to do for food and shelter since he had only his knife with him. I believe I also questioned his ability to paddle with one hand. Then I started to sound so like Father that I fell quiet and began to listen to what he wanted to do, and why.

So it was I found myself running for whatever I could find in the stables, leaving my own hurried messages and sign, and getting back to Estel within our set time limit. He was waiting for me by the bank, quiet and thoughtful, and I could see in him the strength to endure. He is a hardy boy, born of strong stock, but what he had planned was sheer foolishness. I remembered just in time not to tell him that.

Now we float on the stream, silent and yet not peaceful, and I wonder if Elladan or Father would find some wise saying that would mend the trouble between us; or some lesson to be learned; or something I should point out to him, so that he would be better equipped for his life to come. Father says we must teach him all we can since he will be with us for so short a time.

I can think of nothing, and we remain silent.

The high red cliffs of the gorge begin to draw apart, and the banks become flat plains as we approach the Ford. Estel has been here many times. He and I and Elladan used to walk here, he between us, holding my right hand and Elladan's left – never the other way about, so that he should be sure which twin he spoke to. He used to laugh so when we swung him between us, and shout for us to walk fast as he trotted to keep up. Then, as he grew, he ran ahead of us, then dawdled behind, engrossed in his study of some plant or animal, often calling us to whatever he had found. Then we would sit there, and I might tell him the healing properties of the plants, or Elladan might explain the life of the animal, until he had learned all he wanted to learn and ran off again to find something else.

I wish for that closeness now. I know what his trouble is but we have always found the remedy for his sorrows in the past and it is painful now to watch him, back hunched, barely looking at the landscape, and know that nothing I can find to say will soothe him.

The sun climbs higher and the water is so bright and musical that it lulls me, and I begin to sing back to it. I stop when Estel turns to look at me.

"Why have you stopped, Elrohir? You always sing to the river and then I can almost hear it sing back to you."

"I did not want to disturb your thought," I say. "You are thinking long and deep today, brother. I wish you could tell me what ails you."

He flings himself at me so suddenly that I almost lose the paddle. He is gasping and sobbing, and clinging to me so hard that I let the boat take its own course and settle him more comfortably next to me on the thwart. He stills but I can feel the tension in him and fear he will move away again before I can speak to him.

He mumbles something into my side.

"What? What did you say?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles again. "I am still a baby."

"No. You have strong emotions inside, and they must find some way out or they will hurt you, I think. Let me paddle us to shore. We can talk there."

"No. I want my adventure first." He sniffs loudly but looks at me, a small smile on his face. "You promised."

"I did, didn't I. Well, let us see if the river will take us there, or if we must find it ourselves. I think, if we go far enough down river, it might find us."

"To the sea?" he asks, now calmer. He reaches over the side for a handful of water and then washes his face.

"No," I say thoughtfully. "Not to the sea. Father would wonder where we are and Elladan would be worried. No, to the place where we meet another river, I think. If we are in luck, there may be sign there that we can follow. Later today, perhaps even before dark."

He nods, accepting my word as he always does. All I can do is hope my word is good. I am taking a chance. It is three days early – they may not be there yet. But I think Elladan will guess what it is I am doing, and he may find a way to send a message, or even go himself. The river is slower than a horse. He could easily get there first.

Estel returns to the front of the boat. He begins to look around him, to point things out. A huge bird sits in the top of a pine tree.

"Osprey!" he says quietly, pointing, and I whistle to the bird. It whistles back and takes flight, flapping slow beats at first then cruising across the river right in front of us. Estel politely wishes him good fishing and, taking the hint, I steer us to a deep pool. Estel leans precariously over the side, sitting very still. I hold us there, back-paddling quietly in the easy water.

After a while, he looks up and holds his hands apart, wide, and grins.

"That big?" I say, teasing. "Really? He would make a good supper for us."

"Pull to shore, then. You have line and tackle in your belt, I know you have."

So, despite my promise of continuing down river we stay for an hour while Estel tries to outfox the old trout. He catches two smaller, less wary fish but the old one knows better. I explain that is how he became a large, old fish, and Estel asks if that's how Father became old.

"By being wary?" I ask, trying not to grin too widely.

"Yes," he says, pulling in the line slowly, awkwardly.

"I think it may be," I say, seeing the large fish below the water nuzzling at the bait. Estel cannot see it for reflections in the water, but I can and realise the danger too late.

"Estel! Let go the line! He will drag you in!" I had not thought the old fish would even sniff the bait, so I had not anticipated the difficulty.

Asking Estel to let go a fish is not something I had ever done before, and he is so surprised that he hangs on tighter rather than lets go, and pulls, hard. He ends up sitting in the cold water, laughing and laughing, with the old fish wriggling in his lap. By the time I sort matters out, and have his three fish and him back in the boat, I am soaked through too.

He is wet but it is a warm day, and he sits in the hot sun and spreads out his legs to dry his leggings. I remove my cloak and wring out my tunic as best I can, and we drift further down river, the snow-capped mountains running almost parallel, filling the distant view, and the river reeds full of little birds.

The silence between us is easy now and when I begin again my river song, Estel beats time gently on the thwart.

tbc

**A/N Thanks so much for the kind reviews. They are all greatly appreciated. **


	7. Bruinen Part2

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(A/N I have been doing some research. I hope I haven't strayed too far from book canon. If anyone knows any reference which contradicts the age I have given one of the characters, please let me know. I am assuming all of Aragorn's people age at more or less the same rate, even if they cannot expect to live as long as he does.)

We draw closer to the confluence with the Mitheithel just as the light is beginning to fade. I am paddling now, steering the boat down the current. The air cools and I pass a blanket to Estel, who puts it over his knees.

"Is your arm aching?" I ask, and he nods. I will gather comfrey for him tonight and he can have a new poultice. I should have checked his arm earlier. I did not have time to gather up my herb bag, so I hope he will be well. He sits straight-backed on the front thwart, turning his head now and then as a bird or a tree catches his attention. His eyesight is keen, by the standards of his kind, and the fading light is no bar to his interest.

We will be at the meeting place in two more turns of the river now. I remind him to keep quiet and he crouches down a little. I begin to take more care to keep the boat from the shallows as the Bruinen widens and slows.

There, ahead, the landing place, and no sign of anyone, though I am uneasy, and warn Estel to be on his guard. He nods and steps warily out of the boat, then helps me drag it out of the river. We hide it with branches and I take our fish, the blankets and some rope out.

"Go on," I encourage him. He keeps close by now that it is darker but he sets off at my word, up the bank and over into the scrubland beyond. "To the right. There. By the three trees."

That has been our meeting place for years without number. But we are a day early at least, and the chances are we will wait out the night and meet them tomorrow morning. I begin to doubt the wisdom of my plan to re-unite Estel with his own people for a few days. I weighed risk and gain and perhaps have made the wrong choice.

Yet as we draw nearer the trees I catch the distinctive smell of a campfire and then see the tiny glow, close by the tree. Two forms sit by the fire, one taller than the other.

I call out our greeting. The taller figure rises but does not return my call. He stands, and the smaller figure, a boy, stands close by.

"Are the Dúnedain become so distrustful they do not recognise two of the House of Elrond?" I say, keeping Estel a little behind me, and my hand on my knife. There is about this place an atmosphere I have not felt before. I listen, hear noises which need my full attention for a moment, and then Estel steps forward.

"Are you really one of my people?" he says, a quiet awe in his voice.

I put an arm round his shoulders and pull him to me. He knows only that he is of the Dúnedain and that is all his words meant, though in time it will come to mean more. His people know his identity must be kept secret but will this child know that?

"What is your name?" The other child speaks and steps forward. He is taller than Estel and seems to my eye older, though guessing the age of mortals is not an easy task.

"Estel," my brother answers, glancing up at me for permission. I push him forward gently. "What is yours?" he asked, falling easily into trusting the other boy.

"Halbarad," he says. "I'm twelve. I'm taking my Test."

"I'm nine," my brother says. He is a month past his birthday. "What test? An archery test? I'm learning to pull the bigger bow now."

"The Test to join a Company, of course. Where do you live?"

"Before we exchange more greetings, let us go to the fire," I suggest, liking less and less the sounds which come to my ears. The man looks round as well, and his hand is on the hilt of his sword.

We shepherd the two boys back to the fire and I hear their talk, Estel friendly and open, the older boy less so, yet I can hear already the warmth in his voice as they talk, swapping little tales of things they can do. Does this Dúnedain boy know that he is speaking to his Chieftain? From the ease and freedom of their communication I am inclined to think not.

The noise grows louder and the stench hits me. Orcs, more than a few, and they are travelling fast. Abruptly, we decide the fire must be put out.

"We must hide. We are not strong enough to resist. They may be about some other business." The man, who has not given his name, voices my thoughts as he stamps out the fire and gathers up his pack and cloak. Halbarad does the same. We have little to take and I catch hold of Estel's hand, whether to reassure him or myself, I do not know.

"To the river," I say. "They hate the clean waters from the mountains. We may be able to hide there."

And so we move, fast and low, both boys running hard to keep up and we arrive at the dark and silver waters as the orcs do. We leave grasses which close behind us. They will leave a trail which will not heal for weeks.

Have they seen us? The boys are afraid. The orcs will smell that. I wonder desperately, as I push Estel ahead of me, if we can fit four in the boat but I know it is impossible. We cannot ford the river here, either, although we might swim it. It is cold, and deep in the centre, but we could swim. Perhaps with the boat to help. My mind turns over all the possibilities but there is no time to communicate a decision.

Harsh voices fill the air. They have reached the water but they are arguing, I think, though to my ears it always sounds as if they are angry with one another. We slide down the bank, Estel holding onto me with a fierce grip, and we try to push the boys into the deeper darkness where the river has cut into the bank.

A yell, and I know we are seen. Now we must make sacrifices, for the boys must be kept alive. I reach for the boat and pull it to the water's edge, then pick up Estel and throw him into it, nearly upsetting it. Halbarad next, and I hand him the paddle. Then the rank stench is all round us, and the Dúnedan is fighting for his life and ours, hand to hand, sword against scimitar, grace against brutish strength. There are too many and as soon as I know the boys are safe I turn to help him as I may.

Two things stop me. First, the man falters, cut over the back with a scimitar, then down upon his knees, lost in a welter of black shapes, surely dead in the next few moments.

The second? Estel's cry, "Elrohir! No! Don't leave me!"

I turn away from the fight and push the boat fully into the river, jumping as lightly as I can, and, as arrows rattle into the water around us, I let the water carry us away.

tbc


	8. Bruinen Part 3

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

We must make for the shore soon. I must check both boys and try to ensure that they can continue. What we shall do if they cannot, I do not know. My only plan is to travel downstream as far and as fast as we can, and hope to find a larger band of Estel's people at one of the other meeting points on the river. I must speak to Halbarad, who must know more than I of the other members of his company. His company to be. I wonder for a moment if he has passed his Test. Initiation is an important part of their culture, and Estel must be tested in his turn.

I listen while the two boys talk quietly, urgently to one another. Halbarad is more voluble than Estel, who becomes more and more silent as we travel. I worry that he is not telling me what is wrong with him. I wonder what lessons he is learning from his experience of the outside world.

I must not think too much. I must watch for the orcs following us, for the river is not so swift and they could follow. But all I can hear is the water and Halbarad's voice.

"Estel?" I say. "Do you need to stop?"

He looks back and nods briefly. There is something wrong but he is not going to tell me in front of the other boy.

I steer our boat into the southern bank. We have travelled far and it is just becoming light. Halbarad jumps out as soon as we touch land. I warn him not to stray far but he jumps away from us and is off up the bank without looking back. Concerned, I turn to Estel. His face is pale in the thin light, which barely colours the landscape.

"I think he feels ill," Estel explains. "He will not show any weakness in front of us. He will stay close."

"Then let us get out and find some food, Brother. We have a long way to travel."

"I cannot," he says, and I step forward to sit by him.

"Are you afraid?" I ask, puzzled.

"Yes, but it is not that. I am caught fast. I thought I could free myself but I cannot pull out the arrow."

He turns a little and raises his right arm. I have to reach across him to see what is the trouble.

A wicked, black-feathered arrow goes right into his tunic.

"Estel! Why did you not say anything? You are incorrigible!"

He looks shocked at my anger and I instantly regret my words.

"It missed me!" he says. "I don't know how, but it is only pinning the material here to the shell of the boat. I cannot pull it free."

I pull and twist, then pull again and at last the head of the arrow comes clear. I thread it back through the material of his tunic and check it, sniffing for poison. It is crudely made but still barbed and sharp. And it is clean of poison. I throw it into the river, not knowing whether to curse it for its making or bless it for its poor flight. I make Estel pull up his tunic and find the arrowhead cut him a little but he does not even need a stitch.

He is anxious to be off the boat and I let him go. He is safe for a few minutes at least, and both boys need moments to themselves. I pull the boat up higher and pull out five more arrows. I check round quickly then take the line from my belt and throw it in the river, with a prayer that the fish may be biting. My wish is granted and I have one fish by the time Estel returns, and a second is about to take the bait. He is scratching his side and I check it again but there is no sign of anything more than a shallow cut.

"We should stop for a fire, and cook these fish. I shall gather comfrey for your arm and then we will continue downstream."

He looks at me coolly, his grey eyes studying me intently. I want to brush his dark hair away from his face and somehow know what he is thinking. I feel he is going away from me a little and that I cannot speak to him as I used to, to tell him what to do.

I modify my instructions. "Do you wish to return now to Imladris?" It broaches a sore subject, that it was his choice to leave and find his people, and only my offer of a boat and my company and protection which turned him from taking that path by himself.

He does not hesitate. "No. We must take Halbarad back to his people. He is very sad, I think. I have been trying to think what I could say to make him feel better but I could not think of anything. I wanted to say …" he hesitated and I reached out to him. He takes a step closer. "I thought to tell him that the Dúnedan died to save him and – and that at least he had not lost his father, as I did. But I could not say such a thing."

"No," I agree. "Whatever the loss, whether father, friend or horse, it cuts deeply. We all know what it is to lose someone dear to us, Estel, so we must keep together." He knows something of the loss of my mother but not the whole story.

He looks at me again, the wisdom born in him there in his eyes for a moment, before the child, the hungry and tired and frightened child, re-asserts itself.

"I want to eat now. Is it safe?"

"I will light a fire and heat some water and cook these fish, then I will scout round a little. Care for Halbarad, as best you can. I think we are safe for a while."

With help from both the boys – Halbarad returns to us, dry-eyed but pale and too quiet where he was too talkative before – I soon have a small, hot fire going. I tell the boys to stay there and they nod, taking turns to feed the fire and watch the fish. Halbarad has retrieved his bag and draws from it some waybread and a water bottle. He pours the water away and I offer to fill it from the river.

When I take it back, the boys are sharing a fish, eating it delicately from the bones, and they have drawn closer together. I leave the water bottle with them and run upstream, following the twists and turns of the river for a while. Nothing I hear, or see, or smell alarms me. I leave sign in two places, in the hopes that Elladan may be trying to find us, but I see no one.

I run back to camp, thinking to gather up the boys, put out the fire and head downstream immediately but my plans change as soon as I come back to the camp place.

There is Halbarad, his finger on his lips. Leaning against him, fast asleep, sits Estel. I go to sit next to the taller boy, put my arm round his shoulders, whisper, "One half hour, no more," to him, and hold him as he sags against me.

I suppose they could have slept in the boat, but there was barely room for them and it was not so comfortable there.

I try to listen for my Father's voice, try to tell him what had happened but I am too tired and need my strength to watch over the two sleeping boys. All I can do is to trust that we will not be found.

tbc


	9. Bruinen Part 4

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

It is truly a scant few minutes before I wake Halbarad. The folly of waiting at all appals me but they are both exhausted. A few minutes' sleep may enable them to continue for a few more hours. They must remain alert.

"Halbarad," I whisper, nudging the boy. "Where are your people?"

He comes slowly awake and, in moving his arm to rub his eyes, disturbs Estel. "Tharbad," Halbarad says. "Many of my people are there."

"Was it not destroyed in the flood?" I ask, reaching across him to reassure Estel, who is looking at me as if he no longer knows where he is.

"We have been salvaging what we can. My father says that much that was lost will be found, though I'm not sure whether he means the city or our Chieftain." He looks at Estel, who is still sleepy enough to simply grunt a response.

"Well, we must go there, though it is far further than I had intended we should travel," I say, standing, and pouring water onto the fire. I stamp it out carefully while the boys stand and gather any other remnants of our feast. "Go down to the boat. Wash in the river, quickly – you will both be ill if you do not keep yourselves clean."

They go, close together now, Halbarad very slightly ahead of my brother, and I envy them the way they have shrugged off the dangers and horrors around them. Estel trails his good hand through the long grasses and I am reminded to go and gather comfrey. I must check and rebind his arm before we go on – I am afraid it will not knot quickly if I do not treat it.

So we are delayed again, as I make Estel sit on a river stone and unbind the wrappings on his arm. Halbarad watches with interest. The arm is deeply bruised but not displaced, and the swelling is less than it was. I should boil the leaves but that would have taken yet more time, and I do not like the way the place has become almost silent apart from the steady rush of the river. I put the leaves straight onto the skin, hoping that at least some of their goodness will help, and I re wrap his arm carefully. Both boys are watching me now, and I take extra care but Estel is biting his bottom lip.

"Does it hurt?" Halbarad asks.

"Yes," Estel says. "But my brother always makes it better for me." He looks at me with such shining trust that I try even harder to be gentle.

"He's your brother?" Halbarad says, glancing at me dubiously.

I slip the sling back round my brother's neck and help him to settle his arm again. I wait for Estel to answer.

"He's my foster-brother," he says, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

I urge both boys into the boat and they settle themselves on the front thwart again. I pass the spare paddle to Halbarad and he is soon contributing his strength to our journey downstream. I am pleased that we are moving. I feel evil was close but it is now slipping behind us again.

Immediate danger lies not in whatever follows us but in this boy, who knows so much more than Estel about his people. We have protected Estel for seven years now and Father judges we must do that for much longer, keeping secrets of great importance from him. Secrets about his own family. It suddenly seems unfair that we must do that to him, so that he will only be able to tell his new friend half-truths. My only comfort is that he does not tell them knowingly.

"There is a girl I know. Her parents died. She was taken in by another family. But I didn't know the elves took in edain children. I'm sorry, sir," he says, looking round at me. "I don't mean you shouldn't have taken him."

Estel knows the truth, so there is no harm in repeating the story of the way he was brought to us, and that passes the time. Estel grins at some of the stories I tell, especially the ones where he managed to escape us, or outwit us, which I always tell if he is unhappy.

Halbarad begins to laugh at the story of Estel and the frog. It is the first time I have seen the boy smile and it changes him. He is like Estel in some ways, dark-haired, sharp-featured, but he has green eyes. He is tall and very thin. He seems to grow as I watch him, his clothes already a little too small on him. Now that he smiles, I see that he has humour in him and I begin to trust him a little.

"Do you know the story of the king?" he says abruptly. "Our king, the one who will come one day and lead us all back to the days of glory?"

"No," Estel says. "Elladan told me once about the kings that were, in the old days, but I know nothing about a future king. Tell me."

"All I know is what I have said," the boy admits, and I breathe again. At what point to intervene, I had been thinking. If too many clues are dropped I will have a long story to tell my brother, and a great deal of explaining to do when Father finds out. "Maybe it's you!" Halbarad suddenly says.

Estel looks straight at him, mouth a little open. Then he laughs, loudly. "Me! Elrohir, did you hear what he said! Me, as king!"

"Don't you want to be king?" I say, looking around for somewhere we can beach the boat and rest for the night. The light is already beginning to fade.

"No!" he says, suddenly losing his smile. "No! Think how many men would have to live or die by my word."

We fall silent. It is an extraordinary thought for a nine year old, but then, he is an extraordinary boy, and he has just learnt a hard lesson. What can I say to such reasoning? Halbarad seems somehow disappointed, his joke fallen flat, and at my command he helps steer the boat to the shore.

It is the work of a moment. Halbarad catches his paddle in an underwater obstruction and it pulls him back suddenly. The boat is unbalanced and I move to right it but Estel, trying to help Halbarad, forgets his injury and as he reaches out, I shout to him to beware. We are sideways on to the flow of the water now, and further than I intended to be – soon we must reach the cold, fast-flowing waters of Mitheithel. I do not know which boy to help first – one must surely fall in now, but if I can just manoeuvre the boat this way, I can bring them both safely to shore.

I don't know when our luck deserted us. Halbarad falls and is dragged under almost immediately. Before I can reach him Estel has jumped into the freezing water, and the boat is rocked by his movement. It quickly floods and I must take to the water too, holding onto the boat and calling, calling to the boys. All I hear is the water and all I can see is a dark head, floating too fast away from me.

tbc

**Thanks so much for the reviews. I truly appreciate and enjoy reading them. **


	10. Bruinen Part 5

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Thanks again for all the kind reviews.

And well done, Andromida – you seem to have had that thought just as I did! Great minds, and all that!

"Elladan!" my mind cries. "Elladan!" And in that moment, I know why the thought is in my head, for there on the bank, bright against the dark woodlands is my brother, high on his horse and shouting to me. I drive for the bank, dragging the boat behind me and searching desperately for any sign of the boys.

"Estel!" he shouts. "I saw him fall. Where is he?"

"Downriver!" I shout, still looking. "I think he was swept away!"

My brother needs no more instruction and urges his horse along the bank, calling for Estel and searching. I watch him ride away, then suddenly turn his horse down the bank and right into the river. He crashes through the water and I can only hope it is because he has seen Estel and is riding to take him from the water.

I begin to search in earnest for Halbarad, my heart lighter now that my brother has found us. As I drag the boat onto the shore I listen carefully and hear sharply-drawn breath and the slide of water.

"Halbarad!" I shout.

"Here!" says a small, winded voice. "Here."

I slither along the water's edge and find Halbarad lying on his stomach. I grab the back of his shirt and pull him out of the water and up onto his feet.

"Come on, lad – I'll get a fire lit and you can dry out."

"Estel?" he says, stumbling up the steep bank in front of me. I steady him then climb up behind him.

"My brother will find him," I tell him, grabbing any wood I can find as I go. There is plenty stranded on the high water mark, where the winter floods have left it. In a few moments I have the tinder lit and the fire is beginning to spark and catch. My heart tells me to go after my brothers. My head tells me they will need a fire when they get back. When the fire is going I give its care to Halbarad and whistle up the other horse I know my brother will have brought with him, then abandoned as he went after Estel.

I go back to the fire and Halbarad leaves the circle of light to attend to himself.

Then Elladan appears out of the gathering dark, leading his horse. In the saddle, a small, wet, miserable boy sits, gripping the saddle with one hand. As he comes into the firelight he drops his head, hiding his face.

Elladan lifts him down and sets him on his feet but makes no move to comfort him. Instead, he goes to his horse and begins to unsaddle him.

Estel takes a few steps forward until he stands in front of me.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Taking my lead from my twin, I do not immediately look at him. "Whatever for?" I say quietly.

"I … I got it all wrong," Estel says, kneeling close by.

"You did?" I look up at Elladan, who is setting down his saddle near the fire. We both know this is important and that we must wait for Estel to speak his mind.

"I thought I could save him."

"Estel. He's safe. Look – he's just here."

Halbarad has stepped back into the circle of firelight and the sudden movement catches Estel's attention. His jaw drops.

"You didn't die!" he says.

"No," says Halbarad. "I didn't. Why did you jump in? I can swim like a fish." Halbarad sneezes and shivers. His temper is frayed by the cold. When I told him to take off his wet clothes he refused, but Elladan throws him a blanket which he had untied from behind his saddle. He stands and begins to peel off his sodden shirt and leggings. He stand in his small clothes then wraps the blanket around him. He ignores Estel.

"But…" Estel manages, his teeth chattering. Then he turns away suddenly and expels the river water in his stomach. I want to go to him but Elladan glares at me. Our brother must learn his lesson well.

He is gasping, but he turns back to us.

"I thought I could save him," he says.

"By yourself?" Elladan says. "With a broken arm? Estel, you can barely swim even when you have two good arms."

"I didn't think of that."

"Do you think Ruby considered his own safety as he went to protect you?" Elladan asks, his voice harsh and insistent.

I was setting my shirt to dry as I heard Elladan's question and wondered at its wisdom. If Estel runs away again he might be less than easy to find at night, in the wild.

Estel looked up at my brother, who stands head and shoulders taller than him. "I didn't want him to try to save me! But I didn't want Halbarad to die if I could prevent it! How am I to know the right course of action? Everything I do is just wrong!"

Elladan goes down on one knee and catches hold of Estel by the shoulders. "No, brother, no, it is not. You did what your heart told you to do. I am only sorry I arrived too late to prevent the need for your action."

"But you came back just in time," he says, his shoulders sagging. "You saved me."

"I came too late," Elladan insists. "If I had been able to slip away before, I would have put you on a horse and taken you straight back to Imladris where you belong."

I suddenly sense the strength of feeling which has been building in my brother, in the hours he has spent trying to follow us. He must have found the orc tracks, and the marks of battle, and the Dúnadan, whose name I do not even know.

Estel is flinching from hi tone, which Elladan immediately softens. "Father misses you," he adds quietly. His tone is a strange mixture of love and frustration.

Elladan begins to undo the ties on Estel's jacket. He could push Estel to say more but the boy is clearly tired out. Elladan says nothing but it seems Estel has more to say himself.

"Must I let others do what they want to do, then? Can I do nothing to prevent them?" he asks, his head cocked to one side.

"You may help others all you can," Elladan tells him. "You may offer them everything you have, even your life. In turn, you must allow others to do good if they wish."

"And stop them from doing bad things?" Estel asks, his face thoughtful.

"Yes. If you can, you should stop them from doing bad things."

"But not good things?"

Elladan asks. "No, Estel. You cannot prevent them from doing good things, even if in doing them they end up looking like a drowned rat.

Estel grins, a wide, cheerful grin, completely transforming his face. Then a thought grabs him. "So – so I shouldn't be sad about Ruby because he was doing good?"

At last Elladan hugs his brother. "Be sad, Estel, but do not be angry with him. Try not to be angry."

Estel nods and begins to co-operate as Elladan removes his jacket and his tunic. He is already strong, his muscles beginning to develop, but he is thin.

I know Elladan is right, that Estel must try not to be angry. Yet I know also that if Elladan had failed to pull him from the water I would be angry, with both of them, and with whatever had ordained he should die too young. And I know that anger is what we both harbour in us since our mother left us. It is expecting a lot of a little boy to understand that.

"Elladan," he says, as a blanket is pulled round his shoulders. "If we go home now, can Halbarad come too?"

I know Elladan's answer before he gives it in a nod. He holds Estel close and waits, and after a few minutes, grasps him and picks him up bodily.

The boy - my small, knowing brother - is asleep.

We guard them all night. In the morning, we head home, Estel riding with Elladan, Halbarad with me. We hope to avoid the river, and the orcs, and all else that has marred our adventure.

I think we have all had enough of adventures for a while.

tbc

(Amended. I thought this was finished but the boys tell me otherwise. Sigh.)


	11. Rivendell Part 1

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no money from writing this fiction.

(Back to Elrond's point of view).

"Estel."

He peers round the door to my study then enters, standing as far away from me as possible without actually being outside the room.

This is not going to be easy.

"Are you warm now?" I ask.

"Yes, Papa. And I had some soup. And Halbarad had some too and now Elladan's showing him his room and he's going to wait for me and then I'll show him the river and the waterfalls and everything." He looks at the floor, then out of the window. Everywhere except at me.

"And you're well?"

"Yes, Papa. My arm is all right and my side, I think, and I only knocked my knee a bit on the rocks." He is back looking at the floor. He looks cleaner than when he arrived about an hour ago. I watched my sons arrive, learned who the older boy was then asked Elrohir to see to Estel's bath.

I wanted to hug the boy when he returned to me. I still want to. But I must talk to him first. Then I will speak to the twins. Then I will decide what to do with my errant son.

"Come and sit here," I tell him. When I work, he often sits by me on a tall stool. When he was little, paper and pencil were enough to occupy him quietly. He would pretend to organise the papers just as I organised mine.

He drags his feet but comes to sit on his stool.

"Now, Estel. You must tell me all about your adventure. Then, I shall talk to Elladan, and Elrohir, and to Halbarad. Then I shall judge whether you need to be punished."

He looks at me curiously. "You're not going to make me stay in my room?"

He is expecting to be punished, then. I want this to be a serious talk but I hope he will see that I shall be fair with him. I do not altogether understand why he feels punishment is due.

"No, I am not. If you need to be punished it will be different this time. Now, tell me what happened."

He tells me, clearly and factually, all the events of his river journey with Elrohir. He does not play up his own part, nor does he exaggerate the dangers. He gives praise where it is due and his admiration for his new-found friend shines through. I must tell him immediately something which will surprise him.

I wait until he comes to a natural pause in the story then put my hand on his arm. "Estel. You have chanced upon a great friend indeed. I know of Halbarad. He is kin to you."

He looks at me, his grey eyes big. "Really, Papa?"

"Yes, Estel. And he will be very welcome to stay. I have sent a message to his people to tell them he is here. I hope he will be able to stay a month at least."

Estel is off his stool now and dancing around the floor, far too excited to remember that he is awaiting punishment. This is just as well, for I have already judged that he only needs a few tasks to keep him closer to home. I know in my heart that whatever I say or do, if this child wishes to leave me, he will. Better then for him to know he is loved and hope that is enough to hold him here.

"A whole month! Can I teach him – teach him something, Papa? Will there be something I know that he doesn't know?"

"I am sure we shall find many things to teach him, my son. And I think he will need to teach you to swim, when your arm is healed."

He laughs out loud. "Elrohir has tried, and Elladan, but I just sink like a stone! Right down to the bottom of the river!"

His good humour is sudden and catching. I stand and watch him whirl round, his hands out, and he is laughing and singing. As he spins past me I catch him and hold him under his arms. I spin him round, like I used to when he was much smaller, and he laughs and laughs.

But when I set him back on his feet he is silent, and his face is concentrated . I know that look.

"Where do you hurt, Estel? Is it your arm?"

"My side hurts. It's sore."

"Let me look, child." He turns to me, trusting me to set things right. I pull up his tunic and inspect the cut there, the one made by an orc blade. It is a little reddened and tender to the touch, but he is not fevered. I take him by the hand.

"Come. Let us go and find the right ointment for you. Then you can help me decide what your list of tasks will be."

"Oh," he sighs. "I've already done that."

I look down at the boy who is leading me. He is a source of endless wonder to me. I try not to say anything which will show he has surprised me.

"You have? Here is the key, Estel. Open the door."

We go inside and he hops up on the bed, holding his tunic up carefully and trying to look at the wound. "I thought I could help out in the gardens and learn the names of all the plants," he says, sticking out his thumb. I wonder what he is doing until his forefinger is stuck out as well. He is counting off his punishments. "And I must find a new horse and care for it really well. Ouch! Papa, that's cold!"

I warm the ointment in my hand for a moment before spreading it thickly over his cut. "What else will you need to do?" His self-punishing sounds a little too like the things he wants to do but I suppose he has the right idea.

His middle finger joins the rest. "Teaching Halbarad something."

"Ah yes." I wrap the wound carefully and pull down his tunic. "Anything else?"

"I shall do my lessons without grumbling."

I resist the temptation to say that I have never heard him grumble, or had any complaints from the various people who have tutored him. Perhaps he keeps his grumbling to himself.

One finger left. He seems puzzled now. "I can't remember what the other thing was."

"Perhaps," I say, unwrapping his arm and reaching for the fresh comfrey I gathered this morning, when the messenger told me my boys were returning.. I wonder if I am going too far, but it must be said. "Perhaps you should stay at home now, as your last task. For a while, at least. For a month or so."

He looks up at me as I place the leaves on the skin over his broken bone. "Yes, Papa. I think that would be a very good idea."

When I have finished binding him up I wash my hands and go back to sit beside him. He rests his head on my shoulder.

"I didn't really want to go away. It hurt such a lot when Ruby died." He pauses. "Can I go and see if Halbarad is ready to go and see the river now? I can start my lessons when we come back. I promise I won't be late."

I nod and busy myself putting away the ointments and bandages. He jumps down from the bed.

"I'm glad I'm home," he says and I turn to look at him.

"I am pleased you are home, too, child. It was very quiet without you."

He smiles. Then he runs off in search of his new friend, his kin, and the sound of him skittering away down the corridor is a sound I hope to hear often over the coming weeks.

Estel is home.


	12. Rivendell Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Just as a matter of interest, reference is made here to "The Return of the King", page 51 in my 1985 copy. "There was no gleam of stone or gold, nor any fair thing in all their gear and harness; nor did their riders bear any badge of token, save only that each cloak was pinned upon the left shoulder by a brooch of silver shaped like a rayed star." The riders are, of course, Aragorn's people, the Dúnadain).

(A/N This is the amended version – thanks for the character catch, Daw the Minstrel!)

Getting Estel to go to bed is proving a task almost beyond the three of us. We have him contained within his bedroom now and Elrohir is attempting to calm him down with a story. I hold out no great hope that we will have a peaceful evening. He is far too excited and tired, which for a human child seems to be a destroyer of sleep, or any desire for sleep.

I pause outside Estel's room. The corridor is dark. It is very late. From the room comes a soft glow and a flood of questions, which Elrohir is struggling to answer.

"Where do horses go when they die, Elrohir?"

I can hear my twin son's sigh even though I am still outside the room. "Estel. I answered that question five minutes ago. You must go to sleep. How are you going to be able to keep up with Halbarad tomorrow if you do not sleep?"

That is a good question, Elrohir. It even holds Estel for a moment.

"Is he really asleep?"

"Yes. He's been asleep for at least two hours now."

"Really?"

In my mind's eye I can see Estel's expression as he tried to gauge whether his brother is telling him the whole truth.

"Just one more story?" the boy wheedles. "I have to learn as much as I can. I promised Papa I would."

Oh, now that's unfair, Estel. You should know better than to use one of us against another.

"No, Estel. You are going to go to sleep. Think how embarrassing it will be when you need a nap in the afternoon, like a baby."

Ah – now they're both using unfair tactics. I wonder if Estel will be able to rise to the challenge of that comment. As far as Estel is concerned, tomorrow has always been a long way off.

"I suppose so. All right. I'll try."

I take that as my cue to walk away. I would have liked to have wished him good dreams but if I go in, it will be another excuse for him to stay awake. I will check on him later.

I walk quietly away and join Elladan in the Hall of Fire. He is sitting by the fire, legs stretched out, his expression serious. He looks up as I take my place on the opposite side of the fire.

"Is he going to sleep?" he asks, eyebrows raised to reinforce the question.

"I think he may. If not, we will be entertaining Halbarad tomorrow, I think. He will have to sleep at some time." I study my son. There is something on his mind. He is not usually this slow to tell me what it is.

"We must go tomorrow," he says.

"The orcs must be dealt with," I concede. "They have killed one of our allies. We need to know why they were there, what they were doing so far from their home. That Estel should immediately run into a band of orcs may be too much of a coincidence."

Elladan shakes his head. "We left here telling no one but yourself. Even if we were watched, they could not have travelled so fast to intercept us. There would need to be spies everywhere and I do not believe that is so."

He has a right to make that judgement. He and his brother have worked very hard with our allies to ensure the safety of Imladris.

"Then coincidence it must be. So, my son, must you go tomorrow? Estel will be very sad."

"He has his new playmate. He will be too busy – what did you say he was going to do? The gardening?" He snorts with laughter but I think he has underestimated his brother's tenacity and curiosity.

"I shall teach him to grow beans first," I tell him, remembering a time long ago when the twins watched the bean, trapped between paper and glass, put out root and shoot.

Elladan clearly remembers too and smiles gently. "Yes – he will enjoy that."

"I think you are wrong, my son. I think he needs both of you here. But if you must go, then you must. He was prepared for you to leave in the next few days in any case."

Elrohir joins us. "I don't know if he will stay in his room or come searching for us, but he has consented to lie down and try to sleep. He had not been so unsettled since he was a small boy."

We all have memories of a very small boy trailing round the house, trying to remember where he is and find some security in the people he knows. He has not been like that for three years.

"Well, then, we must rest too," I tell my sons. "If you are leaving in the morning, then you must have some rest after the exertions of the last couple of days."

We go to our separate rooms and, to my surprise, my rest is untroubled by boys who cannot sleep. In the early hours I check him, unable to believe he is actually asleep. I replace the blanket that has slipped to the floor and smooth the hair from his face. Even in sleep he seems poised to move, to act and to interact with his world. In a few short years he will not be able to sleep securely. He will wake when anyone comes near him and be ready to protect himself. He will spend long hours awake protecting others. I have a moment's foresight. He sits, staring into the night, while others sleep securely.

If that will be his future then we must make his present as safe as we can.

He stirs in his sleep but does not wake. I leave him to his dreams.

In the morning, the house is full of the bustle of preparation for leaving. A message has arrived to say the orcs, nearly fifty in number, are still on the northern bank of the Bruinen and seem to be waiting there for something. Their intention is unclear but we must find out what it is and defeat them.

Estel is still asleep when I go to break the bad news to him. He comes awake slowly and is still rubbing his eyes when I tell him his brothers are going away. He soon comes awake.

"No! Papa, make them stay. We were going to do so many things this time. No – I don't want them to go!" His shocked face is enough to shake my resolve to support my sons' decision but he has no more right to hold them back than I do.

"Estel – you will find the strength not to stop them. To wish them well on the journey, so that they do not worry about you. You will have Halbarad here to keep you company this time." I wipe tears from his cheeks. "You must do this. I am sorry, I know it is difficult but it must be done."

He nods, trying hard to master himself. They have gone before, and they have always returned. It is on that experience that he must now draw.

"I will try. I will. But I do not want them to go."

My heart agrees with him.

He watches them leave, dry-eyed and standing tall. I think only I can see the pain he is masking.

Halbarad is staring at him and I try to see through his eyes for a moment. I see Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the man he will become. I think, when he is roused, few will be able to stand against him. That is there in him already and yes, Elladan has noticed it too. He looks back over his shoulder then stares, seeing what I see.

He will be formidable, the man that he will become. He has the strength to endure, to inspire others to follow him and to die for him.

When the twins have gone and silence descends at the gate, Estel goes to Halbarad and asks him, politely, what he wants to do. Halbarad stares at him. If I leave them any longer I think the boy will acknowledge his leader and that cannot be allowed to happen, not under any circumstances.

"Let us break our fasts first, Estel. Then I have something I wish to give you. The day will be cold until the fog clears. Then perhaps some exercises for you to do."

Estel's eyes are full of tears. The desire to be strong for his brothers, to resist the usual hugs and tears has made him pale and quiet. But he will not give in.

"Yes, Papa. Perhaps I could teach Halbarad to play chess?" he asks.

"You could," I say carefully, looking at Halbarad. I put my arm round Estel's shoulders and draw him closer. "I will give the matter some thought."

We walk back into the house, Halbarad following quietly. I must ask him what Estel can teach him for it is clearly something Estel wishes very much to do.

In the kitchens, the cook provides a special meal for the boys and they eat heartily. Estel still looks pale but he is beginning to speak again, and is trying to answer Halbarad's riddle. I leave them to their game and go to my room.

In a box hidden behind the books on the top shelf of the darkest bookshelf in my room, I keep Estel's heritage. The ring of Barahir, I will give him when I judge he is a man and worthy to bear it. But the star of the Dúnedain, he may look at that. He will have to earn it but I see no harm in him seeing it. Halbarad has passed his test and earned his own. Estel must be made to feel part of his own people.

"Papa?" The door is pushed open and Estel appears, followed by his new friend. I have replaced the box and the books which hide it, and now I hold the star badge in my hand.

"Come here, Estel. Look. It will be yours one day."

He approaches cautiously, hand held out, and I place the star on the palm of his hand. It is bigger than his hand. He is speechless.

Halbarad looks too. He has seen these badges before and carefully takes it from Estel's hand. He holds it against Estel's shoulder. "You'll wear it here. All the Rangers wear them. I hope mine is waiting for me when I go home."

They admire the beauty of the star, and the way it catches the light. Then Estel hands it back to me.

"Papa, it's very beautiful. I will try to earn it."

He looks at it once more, longingly. I know he wants it now and wonder if I have done the right thing, showing it to him.

Halbarad comes to my rescue. "I'll make you one," he offers. "Well, we can make one together. Then you can be my captain if you want, and I can show you some things, so you can be ready to take your test."

Estel, still looking wistfully at the star, nods. "Can we do that, Papa?" he asks.

"Of course. I will find what you need."

It takes a short time to gather up materials they can use, then they are a full hour making the star. Halbarad proves adept at measuring and cutting, while Estel carefully draws the pattern, his face screwed up in concentration. I find an old brooch, we attach the shape to it and the homemade star is ready. Estel runs to find his cloak, for it is a pin to fasten the cloak at his shoulder, just as Halbarad showed him.

I have a moment to speak to Halbarad. "Estel wishes to teach you something. Can you give me a clue about what that might be?" I ask, as we clear away the space on the floor where they have been working.

He looks at me, puzzled. "I don't know what he knows yet, sir."

"In two days, then. Tell me, and then I can encourage him. I am glad he has found you, child. He is too often on his own."

"I want to be his friend, sir. But may I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"There is something very strange about him. I don't know what it is. I can't explain it any better."

I know what he means. When you put the pair of them together, Estel seems the older of the two, though he is three years younger. I had not noticed it till now. He still speaks and behaves as a child but there is something that marks him as different.

He comes back into the room before we can say more, and the star is pinned to his cloak. He admires himself in the mirror then he's away, Halbarad in hot pursuit, and he is full of himself, shouting down the corridor, full of plans and ideas for the day. Halbarad has become his faithful sub-commander, if Estel did but know it.

I resist the impulse to tell them both to be careful and replace the star in its box. I go to the balcony and watch the two boys chase across the lawns, laughing and shouting to each other. It is music to my ears.


	13. Rivendell Part 3

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I make no money from writing about them.

The meeting goes on far too long, but I must get all the information I can about the movement of the orcs. At last I get away and ask for information about the boys.

All I can find out is that neither boy came in to eat at mid-day, so I have gathered bread, meat and water and warm coats for both of them. There is still a chance of snow, even in April. I go out about mid-afternoon, wondering why they have not returned. The sky is a dense grey, the clouds flying, a gale pushing in a storm from the mountains.

I stand for a moment by the door, hoping to hear them but the branches of the pines are crashing together and the great wind is soughing through the trees, drowning any trace of the boys.

I follow their footsteps across the lawns and down the path leading to the river but they have gone from there. I listen again. Still the roaring of the wind keep any trace of them from me. The waters of Bruinen are loud in my ears. Then I see something move in the meadow on the other side of the river.

They are there, running through the grass. My first thought is to tell Estel to be careful. He is quick to see me and waves but he stops too suddenly for Halbarad, who swerves but still hits him, tumbling him to the ground.

I cross the river quickly, over the stepping stones and run to Estel, who is still lying on the ground. When I reach them, they are both laughing and red-faced. Estel's hair is wild and in his eyes in a barely controlled fire.

"Papa! Papa! We're playing Rangers!"

"Estel," I say, barely keeping the anger from my voice. "Your arm is broken! You cannot take risks like that!"

"I'm sorry," Estel replies, getting to his feet. "I'm all right. I didn't fall on it."

"It was my fault," Halbarad joins the argument. "I ran into him."

"It is not your fault," I tell Halbarad. "It is this wild man here, who gives no thought to the heart of his old father," I say, reaching for him and tickling him until he squirms. He feels cold, and he winces away from my touch.

"Papa, I'm hungry. We forgot to eat."

"Well, that's a rare enough occasion," I say, bringing out the food from my satchel. "Do you want to eat it here?" I ask, while the boys dodge each other. They both seem well but when we have eaten I must get them both home. It is getting colder. I take Estel's coat and prepare to help him put it on. He cannot yet dress himself easily.

"Yes! Food!" he says, tripping over himself and falling into me. I catch him and set him back on his feet, as I did when he was learning to walk. I kneel down and look him in the eye. He laughs and his great joy in life comes to me as a gift.

I help him to take off his cloak. Halbarad is given the star to keep safely. Estel feels cold yet it is a struggle to get him into his warm, wool-lined coat. He is wriggling to get away again but then, with sudden seriousness Halbarad kneels.

"You must keep warm, my lord." He somewhat spoils the effect by grabbing the cloak I was trying to help Estel put on and throwing it over his head, but the moment is important and when Estel disentangles himself from the cloth, he looks steadily at Halbarad.

A long, tense moment passes. I consider if I might need to say something but Estel, puzzled, asks, "My lord? I thought I was just a captain."

Halbarad looks at me. I wonder again if he knows who Estel truly is. I had not considered the possibility that he might know Estel's true heritage but clearly, as kin, he does know. Can a twelve-year-old keep the secret? Does he even know he should?

"Come, Estel – let me help you with your coat," I say, and Estel obeys me by putting out his unhurt arm but he is still looking at Halbarad.

Silence , with Estel, always precedes the truly awkward questions.

"Will I be a real captain one day, Papa?"

I think of several wise things to say. Have some bread, Estel. Let's put your star back on your shoulder. Look, Estel, an eagle. Foolish old man, I am.

"You will be whatever your heart desires when you grow up," I say. "A captain, if you wish. But first, you must eat or you will disappear altogether. I think the twins might miss you if you did." His coat is round him now, so I put the cloak round his shoulders and pin his star back on him. Then both boys eat, sitting on the ground next to me, one on either side, and I tell them a story fit for a king and his faithful friend.

As they eat, it begins to snow. Estel puts out his hand and a flake lands there, holding its shape for a little while, then melting. He is leaning against me now, munching the last of his bread and, every now and then, asking me a question. Halbarad listens quietly. He is looking out over the landscape which is greying under the veil of snow.

I see him watching one place intently. I know he sees something and follow his gaze. Nothing to fear – a huge stag stands there, not yet catching our scent on the wind. He walks further into the field, cautious and slow-moving, lifting each leg and planting it again with delicacy. I quietly point him out to Estel.

"He's a big one!" he whispers.

I nod. The stag comes closer still but then something startles it and it turns and lopes back into the trees.

"Next year, maybe I can hunt a stag like him," Estel says, with hope in his face.

I nod. "Or the year after that," I say.

"Papa, you always say that," he scolds and then laughs at the old joke.

"Shall we go back to the house now?" I ask them. If they want to play out here they will be perfectly safe. It will be chilly and wet but they are not delicate children. The exercise is good for them.

So it somewhat surprises me when Estel says, "Yes – let's go in now." He leads the way, too, with Halbarad behind him. I follow them. Estel heads upstream to the bridge this time. He seems tired. His feet are dragging a little. The adventure has taken more out of him than I suspected, and the loss of sleep the night before must be adding to his weariness.

We go back to the warm of the house and the boys shed their wet cloaks, coats and boots inside the door. They both run to the fire blazing in the hearth, and throw themselves on the bearskin on the floor.

I give instructions to have clean clothes brought, and to make sure their outer clothes will be dried, then settle in a chair nearby.

"Finish the story, Papa," says Estel sleepily. "I forgot what happens in the end."

The storm rages against the window, and I think of my other two boys, out chasing orcs in the storm. I falter then try to pick up the story again. The light dims and when I finish, Halbarad is the only boy awake and listening.

We are used to walking carefully around Estel. He has the habit of falling asleep in the oddest places. Here, curled in front of the fire, he looks completely at peace. I beckon to Halbarad and the boy rises. We go to the other side of the room.

"What do you know of Estel?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

He looks steadily at me. "We know, my lord, that you keep the greatest of us with you, as his mother wished. As soon as I knew we were coming here, I wondered who he might be." He sounds older, much older than his twelve years. They come early to manhood, these people. How many of them have I known through the years? Each generation long-lived yet gone from me so quickly.

"Then you know that I keep the secret of his heritage from him?"

"Yes, my lord." He is trying to keep the puzzlement out of his voice, but I can hear in his tone long evenings of discussion of my decision.

"He will know soon enough. I hope mine is the right decision," I say, thinking for a moment of the long days of discussion which led to my final decision to keep Estel's true name from him.

"Do you wish me to leave?" He looks at me and his eyes are dark grey, stormy now. He does not want to leave. That is very clear in his face.

"No," I say, with all the purpose I can find. "He needs to play with someone nearer his age. And with his kin. I know I can trust you. But do not tease him with names he does not understand."

He looks down, admitting his embarrassment. "I will remember," he vows. "But he makes it difficult. He is already my lord."

I nod. I know what he means. The potential for power is in Estel. I do not yet know what use he will make of that power.

"Papa."

Estel is sitting up and calling to me.

"Yes?"

"I'm hot!"

"You are lying close enough to the fire to curl your hair, Estel! It is no wonder you are hot."

"Oh!" He gets up. He looks a sorry mess, hair clinging to his face and his clothes still damp. "Is it time to go to bed yet?" He walks over and stands near me. He is warm. I can feel the heat radiating from him. His eyes are a little bright, too. I reach out to put my hand on his forehead but he ducks.

"You must eat something first. And a tea, I think. Your body is fighting something. We will see what it is." I begin to be a little concerned. The boy is feverish, not just hot from the fire. "Come, let me see what is wrong. Come on, Estel."

But the boy is far away, looking somewhere else, deep inside himself or into the world around him, it is difficult to tell. He has had moments like this before, when it is given to him to see with more than just his eyes. It is nothing to be alarmed about, I tell myself. It does not injure him.

"Fire," he says. "Fire and – and monsters. And something that shines and shines! Papa – make it stop! Papa!"

I catch him as he falls. I pick him up and stand, holding him safely.

"Come, Halbarad. Let us take him to his room. You may tell him a story as he recovers." I keep the panic from my voice. I wish my sons were here. I begin to think of the right herbs to give him. He has had spells like this before but has never collapsed, only been frightened or, lately, interested in what he sees.

I take him to his room, settle him on his bed then call for help, for he is ill, and I have my own vision of the future. Fire, he saw. Something that shone.

Let him be well, I ask. Let him be well.


	14. Rivendell Part 4

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from writing about them.

I gather him up in my arms and take him straight to his own room, Halbarad following at my heels. By the time I push open his door, Estel has recovered himself and is beginning to look around him.

"What happened, Papa?" he says in a small voice. "Where are we going?"

"You are going to bed, my son," I say firmly. "You have quite overtaxed your strength, running about in the cold then lying in front of a blazing fire. You are strong, Estel, but you are not elf-kind."

"No, Papa. I am a bit tired."

I sit him on the bed and help him undress. Halbarad seems anxious about something but my attention is on my boy, who now stands before me, trembling a little. I must examine him, but I must be quick, and while he can stand it will be easier.

The break in his arm is mending well. All the swelling is gone, and the bruising is beginning to fade. He heals quickly, with the help of the comfrey and his own natural strength.

"Papa – may I lie down now?"

I study his face. "In a moment, Estel – in just a moment. Let me look."

He nods, and I turn him so that I can see the arrow track in his side. It is also healing well, with not the slightest sign to my fingers or my eyes that anything is amiss. Yet my boy is too warm, his eyes a little glazed, his face pink and white with fever. It has come on so quickly.

"Does your stomach feel well, child?" I ask, searching his back for sign of puncture wound or cut but there is nothing

"Yes, Papa. My head aches and I feel hot and cold," he offers, as if trying to please me.

"Do you hurt anywhere?" I feel down each leg but there is nothing to detect. He is beginning to shiver and I dress him in his nightshirt. Halbarad is waiting by the door, fidgeting, as if he is not sure he should be there.

"I don't think so. My foot was itchy yesterday but I didn't notice it today." He looks down and I follow his gaze, then reach to lift his foot. He wavers, unbalanced and I hold him by his upper arm.

"Sit, child. Halbarad, bring me that light. Hold it steady." I hold the small foot and turn it, searching the skin for any blemish, until a slight move alerts me. Estel has flinched.

"That's where it was, Papa. I don't know what happened. My boot had a hole in it, a little one. It's been mended."

There, on the top of his foot, between the bones that link to his third and fourth toes, a small puncture wound. I feel it carefully. There is something there, hard and sharp, and when I manipulate it, a small amount of pus escapes. In my heart I rejoice. This is easily mended.

"Lie down in bed now, my son. Keep warm. I will be back in a few moments."

He looks at me with sad eyes but settles into bed willingly enough, and draws the blankets up to his chin.

"Do not drown yourself in your bed coverings before I return," I say, smiling at him. It is an old joke between us.

"I will try not to," he says, an uncertain smile on his lips. He sighs and stares at the ceiling. He does not like being ill.

I guide Halbarad to the door and outside it, then speak quietly to him.

"Stay with him, Halbarad. I am going to fetch some instruments and medicine. Talk with him, keep his mind from his foot. He will wish to touch it but you must prevent him."

"Will he recover, my lord?" he says. So that is what has been going through his mind.

"He has something in his foot, a sharp piece of wood, I think. It has festered. His body is fighting off the evil in him, but all he has been through in the last days has left him weaker than normal. I shall remove the foreign matter, treat the wound and the fever and he will be well in a day or so. Now, I must go. Keep by him."

I hurry away, safe in the knowledge that the boy's new friend will watch him most carefully.

When I return, I hear the quiet murmur of voices. Two boys in conversation.

"I've seen the knife he uses. It is so small and it has the thinnest, sharpest blade you have ever seen. He will cut into my foot and there'll be lots and lots of blood."

Ah, Estel. Clearly enjoying himself now. I hate to disturb his moment of glory but it will be best to bring the matter to a swift conclusion now. I push open the door and go in.

We manage to arrange Estel's foot so that if indeed there is "lots and lots" of blood, it will be caught in the towel on the bed. I arrange lamps more conveniently and then thoroughly cleanse my hands.

"Here, Estel – drink this. The operation will be quick but painful. You must not move or I will cause more damage to the inside of your foot."

He pulls a face. He has had this medicine before and he knows it tastes bitter. But he holds his nose and drinks it down. While we wait for him to become sleepy, Halbarad tells us of the time he had to have ten stitches in his scalp when he'd fallen awkwardly out of a tree.

Estel is about to begin the saga of his tree-climbing adventures when he yawns and lies back.

"Count, Estel," I say.

"One," he says, settling his head on the pillow. "Two. Three. Four." His eyes close. "Five," he mumbles. "Six." Then he is quiet.

"Estel?" I pinch the skin on his foot but he does not stir.

Halbarad cannot watch the operation, so I allow him to go to his own room. I make a small incision and probe, noting carefully the damage to a vein, a nick in the sinew and then the source of the infection. Buried deep, a sliver of wood, long and jagged, splintered so that its withdrawal will be a difficult process. I must take out all the pieces or I will not be able to stop the infection.

I grasp the tweezers and begin to pick out the fine pieces. I imagine him walking through the grass, a piece of wood sticking up yet hidden. His foot moves forward and the sliver is injected into his skin. It is probable that he hardly noticed it, perhaps only as an annoyance or a momentary change of direction.

It takes me long minutes before I am sure the wound is clear of pieces of wood. I wash out the hole, salve it with the same ointment I used on the cut from the orc arrow and then dry his foot. I put in one stitch, just to reassure myself, I believe, then cover his leg with sheet and blanket.

I sit with him for another hour, keeping his brow cool and watching for signs of his recovery. He does not like the sedative I used, for it has made him sick in the past, but he is older now. I am hoping the dosage was correct.

He begins to move, sluggishly. "Papa?" he says, his eyes opening a fraction. "Papa. Is it done? I saw such strange things. There is something in the room. Papa, I don't want it to be here!" He is coming awake now, all too quickly, and he is staring at something in the room. "Get it out of here!"

Involuntarily, I look behind me to the wall at which he stares with a fixed, terrified gaze I have not seen in his face since he was little. He is half-waking, half-dreaming, and his nightmares invade the real world.

I take him in my arms and he allows it, struggling to come to himself. He must not wear himself out like this. I must calm him. So I do what I did when he was little and frightened. I sing to him, and rock him gently.

His heart rate slows and he begins to breathe more gently. I settle him against the pillow.

"You have not sung that in a long while," he says. He is ghostly pale.

"You have not been so ill in a long while, my child. But you will soon be better now. In a day or so, you will be running round the house chasing your new friend, and I will have to put away all my precious bowls again."

He is sweating again, the fever still in him. His face loses its pallor and his eyes half-close.

"I don't know when I'm seeing real things or dream things, Papa. I don't like it."

"In the morning, when you have rested, will we talk about these dreams and see if we can banish them for you. Would you like that?"

He smiles a little then turns onto his side. "Yes, Papa. Tell Hal good night for me," he adds, like a little princeling ordering a slave. "Please," he adds, looking at me with one eye open.

He is a good boy.


	15. Rivendell Part 5

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

He sleeps fitfully. I do not leave him long, but when I return he is watching for me, his large, grey eyes shadowed with concern. It is just beginning to be light, beginning to eclipse the lamp by his bed.

"How are you feeling, my son?" I ask, pouring a glass of water and going to sit on his bed.

"Better, Papa. Can I get up? I need …" His eyes flicker to a door partially hidden by a wall hanging.

I nod and help him out of bed. He walks carefully across the floor and goes into his water closet. While he is away I remake the bed and try to prepare myself to speak to him about his dreams. They clearly troubled him again during the night. I could have tried to read them myself but I will never violate his private thoughts in such a way.

He comes back into the room, drying his hands.

"Papa?" he says, stopping and looking at me.

"Yes, Estel?"

"Why wasn't I sick this time?" He notices he still has a towel in his hands and goes to put it away. When he returns, I can see other questions rising in him. He is still too unwell for this, these taxing discussions it seems he is driven to have.

"Come to bed. You mustn't get cold."

There is a moment's hesitation. He knows what I am doing. Then he does as he's told but sits up in bed. Keeping him quiet, in bed, all day is going to be a challenge. He is waiting for his answer.

"You have grown. Your body has become more used to the herb, and I to the size of the dose I must administer. I also added an anti-emetic – a herb which stops you being sick." I would normally tell him the names of the herbs and the proportions of the mixture, and any special instructions but today he is already restless, not concentrating on words so much as wanting to hear someone speak to him.

"Will I be able to get up today?" he asks, though surely his body can give him the answer. I know it does when he asks another question without waiting for me to speak. "When I am a ranger, and I am not well, what will I do?"

"You will tend yourself, Estel. If you are near, you will come back here, and I will look after you. Now, try to sleep a little more. It is still very early."

He nods. A year ago, he would have asked whether I was going to stay with him. He is too old for that now but I miss the question.

"Do you need anything?" I ask, wondering if I can prompt the accustomed enquiry.

He shakes his head, slipping back down under the covers. His eyes close. He is asleep in moments.

I leave him alone, propping the door open. I give instructions that the house will be quiet until he wakes then go to see if Halbarad is awake. When I knock, he replies immediately, opening the door to me.

"He is better this morning." I reassure him. "You must help him pass the time until this evening. If his fever does not rise then, he should be able to get up tomorrow. He will fight us for his freedom."

Halbarad smiles. "I am the same. Perhaps it is something inborn in our people."

"Come. Break your fast with me."

I take him downstairs to the small room next to my study, and we eat together. Estel will be watched and I will be informed if he wakes.

"Sir?" he says, putting down his knife and fork.

"Yes?" I want to get to know this boy, who may become a very important friend to Estel, as a person in his own right. He looks a little like my boy.

"Has there been word from my people?" There is a trace of longing in his voice, well concealed but still present.

"Not yet. When my twin sons return, I hope they will bring word. If they do not, I will make sure they know you are here. I know they will be concerned for you."

"They may, but not for a month yet. I was not due home until then. I don't know if they will accept that I have passed my test."

There is a knock at the door and a message is passed to me. I read it and almost forget Halbarad's need for reassurance. But his expression reminds me.

"I will ensure that they know what you have done. You were brave beyond your years. I think my boy might not have come home if he had not met you when he did."

There, I have made him blush. He is relieved, I can see it. Now I must go to the stables. The twins have returned – so soon. Surely it is too soon.

"Come with me. There will be news – my children will bring it."

We both hasten to the stables. I can hear their voices and I am anxious for their news but even more anxious that they should not disturb Estel, who always knows the moment they return to Imladris.

"Father!" Elrohir says, jumping down from his horse. He is muddy and dishevelled but unhurt. "We have such a story to tell you!"

Elladan is close behind him. He has a lead rein in his hand, and I see a beautiful pony there, black as midnight with a white blaze. I know immediately who will be his new owner.

"We traded for him. Saw him in a string of ponies and it was as if we both knew he was Estel's – he's perfect, Father. Do you think our brother will like him?"

I pretend to be undecided and go to check the pony out, running my hands over him, checking for any weaknesses in him. The horse eyes me and throws his head. "He has spirit," I say, still checking him. "Let me see him move."

Elladan runs him back and forth and the animal trots obediently enough. But he pulls a little at the lead rein.

"Is he broken to the saddle?" I ask. The pony is young yet, but old enough to be ridden.

"Not yet. He had not long been caught. He was running free, they said." Elrohir joins me, and we study the pony together, commenting on its fitness for its new owner.

"Then you have no news of the orcs to bring?" I say, wondering if they have been so distracted by the horse that they have forgotten their true task. It has been known to happen. Elladan slows the pony to a walk then brings him to join us. He stands and lets the pony nuzzle his hand for a treat. He seems tame enough, but I judge he is not ready to be ridden yet.

"We met three rangers, Father. They had all the news we need and I will tell you all later. Now, may we go and fetch Estel and give him his present? I want to see if we have a saddle the right size for him. If not, I'll make one myself." Elladan is already full of plans but I must stop them. Estel needs at least a week before he tackles a pony like this, half-broken and strong-willed.

"No," I say firmly and I am about to explain why when a small figure, who seems dressed in some rather oddly-matched clothes dashes up, limping but still fast on his feet, shouting the twins' names with such joy and energy that for a moment I cannot believe it is the same boy I left asleep in bed an hour ago.

"Is he for me?" he asks, looking up at Elladan.

"Estel," I say, as sternly as I can. "Go back to your room."

I am not sure he even hears me. He goes to stand by the pony's shoulder and, with surprisingly little foresight, Elladan hands him the leading rein. Before I can catch him, or order him, my youngest boy grabs a hank of mane and leaps onto the pony's back. Now my heart is truly in my mouth.

"Elladan! Stop him! He is ill – he is not strong enough!"

But the boy has complete control of the pony and before any of us can react he is kicking it forward, and is off down the road with a yell of delight.

Elladan grins at me, perhaps a little sheepishly. "I believe he likes the pony, Father," he says quietly.

I am so taken aback I cannot immediately think what to do. But I know what I will do when Estel returns with the horse. This time, he must learn a serious lesson about obedience.


	16. Rivendell Part 6

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

"Did you not think you might be thrown from your pony's back?" I ask, as I take Estel by the hand and lead him quickly back to the house. Elladan accompanies us while Elrohir goes to find the pony.

There is nothing Estel can say. He is unhurt; at least, he is no more hurt than he was before. But he is bedraggled and wet, his clothes muddy and the sling holding his arm steady is a variety of browns and greens. A tree branch, he told me when he walked back to the stable. It sort of made me lose my balance, he said.

"Did you not consider the pony might be hurt or lost? And your brothers went to such trouble to get it for you."

He sniffs, and rubs his nose with his sleeve but still doesn't say anything. We reach the door and I begin to remove his boots and his jacket. He certainly dressed himself, and rather quickly. He has his nightshirt on under the coat.

"Elladan: hot water," I say, and he nods, grim-faced. It is the knowledge that he has worried us all and disappointed his brothers that is making Estel sniff again but he is not going to give in to tears. Elladan walks away without even looking at Estel, though a glance through the hair which hangs over his face tells me Estel would dearly like to receive a word or two from his brother.

When he can walk through the house without dripping water or mud everywhere, I guide him back to his room with a hand in his back. Not that he shows signs of bolting. It is just that he knows that when he is clean, and warm, and dry, he will have to look over his actions with me. I have only had to do that once or twice with him before, when he was old enough to begin to see that this was worse punishment than being sent to bed, or confined to his room. He so rarely needs punishment. Guidance has been enough. This time, I am afraid I have over-indulged him. He must learn that what he did was wrong.

It takes us more than an hour to get him clean and check him again thoroughly. In all that time we hardly speak. Elladan has brought him warm milk and a biscuit and he eats and drinks slowly, sitting at the table by the window. He is wrapped in a large blanket which seems to be engulfing him, though in truth it is Estel sitting more and more hunched up.

When he has finished, I dry his hair and comb it out. Now we must talk, for a little while. I take the seat opposite him while his brother sits in the armchair by the fire.

"I'm sorry, Papa," he says. He looks down at the plate and plays with the biscuit crumbs there.

"That is to be expected, Estel. But it is not enough. This time, it is not enough."

He drops his head. "I'll never do it again." He is very quiet. But he has not yet found the right words. I cannot let this be enough punishment.

"Tell me about your dreams, child," I say, and he looks up sharply, puzzlement in every feature.

"My dreams? Aren't you going to send me to bed now?"

"Not yet. Your dreams, Estel. Your visions. The things you see that others do not."

He looks a little pale, paler than he did before. I must not press him too hard, but he must go through this fire now. This moment must be one he never forgets.

"I don't see things as much as I used to," he offers. He is trying to avoid the issue but I cannot quite see why yet.

"You are growing out of them, Estel – or your ability is becoming something else, that is all. Tell me, child. Then we will talk about what you did this morning."

He sighs. He knows I will not give up. "I see – I see something, something big and strong and it's got a lot of – it's – it can do magic, I think. It scares me."

I do not try to interpret his vision yet, I only encourage him with a nod. Elladan leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He narrows his eyes. Perhaps he is trying to see what Estel is describing.

Estel takes a deep breath. His distress comes a little more to the surface. "I know I have to do something to this bad thing. I feel it sometimes, that it is looking at me and I have to hide from it. But sometimes I can't hide. Not anywhere. Papa, that's all I remember." Now he can look at me, for he is no longer avoiding the truth.

"That is very good, Estel. But that is not all." I keep as calm as I can, knowing that we are near the heart of it.

"No," he concedes. "There is something else. One other thing. Other things happen but I don't know what they are. Honestly, Papa, I don't know everything, really I don't." He is looking a little desperate now but it will only be a few more moments.

"Tell us, Estel. What is this one other thing?"

He pauses and I wonder if he will speak. When he does, his voice is stronger than I had expected it to be. "I am standing high up. A long long way up. It is cold and there is a strong wind. I think I am the only person in the whole world who has ever been here. Down below, there are lots and lots of people, moving around, so small. There is – there is a strong light coming from somewhere." He is now more confident in his words as he becomes lost in what he can see. "The rocks are white around me. But something from far away can see me standing there, and I think I am grown up and I feel strong but I feel lonely, too. Then – then I don't see any more."

He puts his good hand down flat on the table and examines the back of it. He has come to a full stop. It is entirely possible that he knows no more, or can remember no more. I can make sense of some of what he says, if his vision comes from the past or even the future of his line. Now I must tell him how important it is for him to be safe, without revealing his true future to him.

"And do you think it is important that you face this evil thing when you are grown up?"

I am aware that Elladan is looking at me, knowing well enough the purpose of the question. I wonder if Estel can grasp its purpose too. It is a lot to ask a boy of nine.

He goes very quiet and his brow furrows in thought. We wait for him to know what to say.

"If it is true," he says quietly, "if what I saw is true, and I have to stand on that place and fight this thing, then I must be strong as soon as I can, and be brave and I must know how to do things."

It is not quite the answer I had thought of myself. He is not being sly, not seeking to excuse his actions, but in a way he is saying to me that he is grabbing at chances to be who he must be. It is a critical moment and I must try again to get him back on the path I have chosen for him. I must be careful to guide him, not to attempt to force him, for he will quickly move away from me if I do.

"Yes, and you will learn and be strong, and you will know many things soon enough. But you must stay within certain bounds. You cannot – I cannot protect you always. If you had fallen from your horse and broken your neck, then you would not have had the chance to become strong and brave, and to stand in a high place to see what you saw."

"Yes, Papa," he says, though he is still undecided.

It is enough. I have at least made him see his actions from a second point of view and that will have to be all for the moment. Now I must give him his punishment, for he will see it as that, though all I do is in care of him.

"Now, Estel. I am your doctor as well as your father, and I will be obeyed. For two days you will stay in bed."

His jaw drops. He has not considered I might say this. I press on before he can protest. Elladan is smiling now, for he knows how close Estel is to giving voice to his feelings about my decree. "You may read, and do your studies, and you may talk to Halbarad or to me or to your brothers. But you will stay in bed until I am sure your fever is gone." I reach across the table and feel his brow. Yes, he is a little feverish still, and his jaunt will have done him no good.

"Papa!" he says. "Two whole days?"

"On the third day, if your fever is gone, you may rise in the afternoon for a short while. Next week, presuming Elrohir has caught your pony again, you may begin to groom him and clean out his stall and get to know him better. The week after that …" I can see him working on the number of days all these weeks involve, "…it is possible that I will allow you to ride him on the lunge. Or perhaps ride him out, so long as Elladan, Elrohir or myself are with you and keep you on a lead rein."

I almost feel sorry for him now. If he had not earned his punishment, I would comfort his evident distress at my plan for his future. Well, he must learn to endure, and he will value this lesson in patience.

"Now, to bed, and if you do not feel sleepy I will read to you."

He stands and drags the blanket with him to his bed. His body language is revealing but I will brook no complaint, no pleading and he knows that well enough.

Elladan at last takes part in the conversation, just as Estel climbs onto the bed and settles himself down.

"I will go and see if the new pony is found yet, brother," he says. "Tomorrow, we will think on a new name for him. We will see to him well until you are ready to take on his care."

Estel nods, saying nothing, though I catch a glimpse of a smile. He loves to name things. Already he will be thinking over what it might be.

Elladan leaves and I go to stand by Estel's bed. "You are tired. I will leave you to sleep."

His eyelids flutter closed and he resettles himself on his side, his hand close to his mouth, his knees drawn up. His breaths even out and a sigh of relief escapes me. We have a short respite now at least. I have given a challenge to Estel, to obey my edict against all his natural instincts to be up and about. But somehow, I think it will be something of a challenge to us too.

It is for his own good. The boundaries must be set closer to home. He will test those boundaries over and over again, but at least we will be on hand to help him.

Before leaving the house I suggest to Halbarad that he goes to Estel's rooms and at least sit with him and warn me if he tries to do anything foolish. Then I walk down to the stables, where Elrohir is carefully currying a skittish pony. Elladan helps by speaking to the pony, helping it to become accustomed to its new home.

"He did not run far, then," I observe.

"He knows where his master lives," Elladan says, rubbing the pony's nose. "I believe he is sorry he brushed Estel from his back. He was returning here when Elrohir caught up with him."

"He was," his brother confirms. "They will be inseparable soon. Now, father, we must talk about our brief time in the wild. There is much to say. We will need to gather in conference all those concerned."

So, for an hour, we speak and sift information and plan, returning to the house and to my study to look at maps and papers. Then I go to check on Estel.

He is still sleeping peacefully. Halbarad sits in the chair by the fire, reading, and he looks up as I enter. We smile but exchange no words.

He is in safe hands, for now, and in my heart I am glad for it. But that it is a temporary respite, I am all too aware. And the stir that there will be in the household in the next days will do nothing to help him keep to his bed.

We are going to need all our skill to keep him where I deem he must stay, in bed, recovering, safe. For two whole days. I wonder at my own folly, making it so long.


	17. Rivendell Part 7

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from writing about them.

"Estel. You will not move from that bed until your father tells you that you may."

We have reached a quiet moment. My twin is sitting by the fire, and only his hands gripping the armrests give away his emotions.

Estel appears, from the furrow in his brow, to be thinking. He is sitting cross-legged in a nest of sheets and blankets in the middle of his bed. He looks hot and dishevelled but far from beaten. He is made of stern stuff, this little brother of mine.

"Two days," he says at last.

"Yes," Elrohir confirms.

I make myself comfortable on the bench by the window. This is going to be interesting.

"So I was in bed all yesterday," Estel says, looking at his hands. He has laced his fingers together and is studying them as if this is the first time he has tried this particular trick.

"Most of it," Elrohir corrects. "After you stole the pony, fell off it and walked home again."

"It was still the morning."

I look at Elrohir. He is not smiling. He nods at the boy. "It was."

"And now it is the afternoon of the second day. So I am getting up. I don't want to be in this bed any longer. I am well and I want to meet the people who are coming to the conference."

Estel has a point. But he is bending the truth a little to make it. However, he is almost out of bed now and Elrohir, I know, will have none of it. Two full days, my father said. More, perhaps, for the boy is not altogether well yet. I think it is the frustration of having to lie in bed that is making him ill. My brother disagrees with me and so does my father, who has already checked on Estel and says he still has a low fever.

So now it is a battle of wills between us. We do not use physical force on him. We would not do so. But some way must be found, some middle course. Perhaps that is what I can offer him.

"May I suggest something?" I say, not completely sure what the answer will be from either of my brothers, foster or blood.

Two pairs of eyes look at me. Since Elrohir is silent I press on.

"Estel – you have not yet had enough time to recover."

He sighs but at least he settles back into his nest. He had been ready to bolt for the door.

"But I think we could consent to you sitting out of bed for an hour. The bed could be aired and have fresh linens. Then, I think, if you sat here, you could see some of those people who are arriving."

His eyes are bright now with enthusiasm. It is a start.

"Can I get dressed?"

At least he is prepared to negotiate. I call on all my skills as an ambassador.

"You must wear a robe over your nightshirt, and you must sit with a blanket over you. If you do this, tomorrow will come more quickly and perhaps you will be able to meet one or two people then."

My brother glances at me. I am offering him what I should not, what my father may not permit, but already I have plans to invite a guest or two to his room. That should be safe enough.

My small brother sighs. It appears he has given in. Unfortunately, Elrohir does not read the sigh in the way I do.

"You will behave yourself, Estel! We have brought you up with better manners than this! You will do as your Papa says, and you will stay here."

I sigh inwardly. Perhaps my twin is tired, or perhaps he is simply tired of dealing with nine-year-old boys with minds of their own. But he could not have said anything worse.

"I do do as I'm told! I've been doing it for hours and hours and hours! I've read and done my lessons and played with Halbarad until you sent him away and now I'm not staying here any longer! I'm too hot and this bed hurts and I want to get up!" He is shouting now and hitting at the bed as if it has indeed hurt him. He is getting beyond himself, as he did when he was two and couldn't say what it was that was frustrating him. It is a measure of his illness, I thought, but again Elrohir has reached different conclusions.

"Do not shout! You will not get what you want by shouting!" Elrohir goes closer to Estel, towering over him, but the boy on the bed is undaunted.

"I'm not shouting! I'm just …" he searched for a word, "I'm just talking! Only it's loud!"

Probably the snort of laughter which escaped me didn't help. The boy may have been too far gone by then to notice. But he squirmed out of bed, and was past both of us before we could think of making a grab for him. Clearly some part of his brain was still working, since he made for the window rather than the door, which would have meant almost immediate confrontation with his father.

"I want to sit here, like Elladan said." He is half-sobbing, gulping in air and, now that I look at him, trying hard to master himself. In a few moments he offers something from his side of the negotiation. "I'll be quiet." He hangs his head.

Now that the tempest has passed, for a moment at least, I take Elrohir's arm to try to prevent him from speaking.

"That is not enough, Estel," I say. It will not be good for him to feel he has outwitted us. He treads a narrow path. He must be confident in himself yet not arrogant. Yet neither must I bully him into submission, as Elrohir appears to be trying to do.

"I'm not going back to bed," Estel says quietly. "I'm not!"

"You will come here, boy," I say, keeping my voice as calm as I can. "And you will be dressed as I have said. Elrohir will move your chair to the window and I will bring a blanket for you. Is that understood?"

The boy, still red-faced and teetering on the edge of another outburst, looks me right in the eye. It is, for a moment, an unnerving experience. He is searching for something, for a weakness in my resolve, perhaps, or forgiveness – I cannot tell. He says nothing for a long-held breath then makes his decision.

He stands up and trails back to me. Elrohir has finally seen sense and fetches Estel's robe, handing it to me with an unreadable expression. He and I will need to talk later. He then goes to move the chair to the window, and ties back the curtain. I help Estel to put on his robe, checking that his arm is securely in its sling, then, as I tie the belt round his waist he whispers to me.

"Why is he so cross?" He looks at Elrohir.

I whisper back, to preserve the fiction that we cannot be heard. "We are both tired, Estel. Perhaps he is hungry, too. You know how you are when you are hungry."

He nods. He knows that he is, as his father put it, like a bear without his honey, when he is hungry. "I didn't mean to shout."

"I know," I say, drawing him a little closer. "You must be calm and let us help you get well. Then you and I can work with your pony. Do you have a name for him yet?"

"Spider," he says, unhesitatingly.

I hear Elrohir's stifled reaction behind me. He covers it with an exclamation. "Look, Estel! Come and see who is here!"

The boy goes quickly to his side and I am left to puzzle over the name. Spider. Well, it is – it is an adventurous name. I must ask him why, later.

He is standing next to my brother now, who is pointing people out to him, headmen from the local towns and settlements, and more of the tall, grey-clad folk who will one day bow to Estel as their captain. Elrohir is giving Estel their names, and the boy nods solemnly and repeats them to himself.

I go to the door and ask the servant who is passing to make up Estel's bed. He will have something to eat, too, but he will not leave his room. We have promised that to my father. Estel must not leave his room tonight, or tomorrow morning.

For the conference is about him, about my small brother, who is now sitting in the chair and leaning on Elrohir, watching another small group of people walk up the path to our door. A few of those who come are not here to talk about the growing number of orcs, or the numbers of stock animals taken by wolves. A few of the most important are here to discuss how to keep Estel hidden.

And it is most important Estel does not know this, for in his ignorance lies one of our greatest strengths.

There, he is sleepier now and will barely last the hour I have allowed him. His bed is not ready yet, though, and needs to be aired for a while before he goes back to it. I wonder for a moment if we will have a battle to get him to stay up but I know he is too tired. It is right that he should try asserting his will. He must become a man in a very few years. Yet I would keep him a child for a little longer.

My father chooses this moment to enter the room. I take his arm to slow his pace and he looks at me quizzically.

"Estel is learning the names of those who will attend the meeting tomorrow," I say, trying to judge my father's mood. "While his bed linen is being refreshed, we thought he might pass the time in a new lesson for him."

My father smiles. He knows immediately what has happened, for he reads it in the anxiety in my voice and the small traces of remaining anger in my brother's glance. But most of all he sees that Estel has fought a small battle and has been – not defeated, exactly, but side-tracked.

"I thought perhaps we could allow him to meet someone tomorrow morning, someone who would enjoy hearing of his adventures."

Elrond's gaze has not left Estel but I have his attention.

"Yes. Yes, I think that would be a good idea," my father says.

"Really, Papa?" Estel says seriously. "May I meet someone who knows about the outside? About places far away?"

My father smiles. It is a rare thing these days and Estel looks curiously at him.

"I haven't been very good," the boy says. It is as if the smile fetched out the confession.

"Haven't you? I wondered if I heard raised voices. Do you hate me for confining you to bed?" My father's voice is deep and quiet, meant only for my little brother.

"No, Papa!"

Elrohir leaves his post at his brother's side and Elrond goes to talk to his foster son. We leave them to their quiet conversation. Elrond will give him his food and medicine and all will be well again.

We must become the hosts in our father's absence. As I wash my hands and reach for the circlet I shall wear on my head at the meal tonight, I see Estel, angry, shouting at us. I am suddenly afraid for him, for the future he must face. Have we made him stronger tonight, or weaker? I do not know.

Perhaps someone wiser than my brother or myself will be able to tell us tomorrow just how well we have done in raising the king that will be.


	18. Rivendell Part 8

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(I meant to say that the last chapter was from Elladan's point of view, but I suspect everyone has worked that out by now. Ha!)

A brief note of thanks to my faithful reviewers. Your support means a great deal to me – thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement.

Now – on with the story.

"I've lost him!" Elrohir tells me, entering my chamber in something of a hurry. 

I had been lying down, taking a moment to gather my strength for the day, having watched over Estel most of the night to make sure he didn't feel the need to wander off anywhere. I sit up, feeling every one of my many years in Middle Earth.

"You had to entertain him for one hour," I say, trying and failing to keep the accusation out of my voice.

"I know, I know," he says, shaking his head. "Do you think he's gone to see his pony?"

"That's certainly the least worst thing that could have happened," I say, and he grins ruefully.

"I don't understand why he's so disobedient," my brother says.

"Did you actually say he had to stay in his room all morning?" I ask, trying to fathom this mystery.

"No," he says. "I didn't."

We ponder this omission.

"And before you say anything, I know that was my job. Keep him in his room. I said I'd help him with a picture of – what did he call that pony? Spider?"

"Did he say anything?"

My brother thinks carefully. He is perhaps carefully choosing what to tell me, since he has clearly made a mistake.

"He said he wanted to check something. I was getting him a piece of paper. As I turned, I saw the door closing and Estel had gone. Ah." Light dawned in my brother's face, and relief. "He's gone to look at the pony again so that he can draw it."

Elrohir seems happier now. I am not and I grimace. "If he's gone through the kitchens all will be well. If he went by the front door, we are in serious difficulty, brother."

He did not take much finding. As I walked down the corridor, he was being escorted from the chamber in which the meeting concerning him was taking place. He had unerringly chosen the one place he should not have been.

"Now, my boy," came a familiar voice.

So that is why he went into that room. He has sharp hearing, my brother.

"Gandalf!" Estel says, as a large hand in the boy's back guides him into the corridor. "I've got a new pony! But Ruby died. And I broke my arm. And I've got a new friend. And he's called Halbarad. We went down the Bruinen on an adventure!"

Gandalf's glance held me in place. The wizard gathers his robes around him and settles on a convenient chair.

"Estel," he says, holding up his hand.

The boy shuts his mouth.

"I have a great many questions for you. And I know you have a great many questions for me," Gandalf says quickly. "But they, and you, will have to wait."

"But Gandalf! You haven't been here for such a long time!"

"I know, my boy. I had intended to visit you two months ago but I was detained. Now, do you think you can wait until the midday meal? Was there something you could do to help you pass the time?" Gandalf looks at me, his eyes bright. I take my cue and step forward.

"Yes, Gandalf. We were about to draw a picture of the new pony. It's called Spider," I added, and those bright eyes twinkled.

"Spider, eh? Spider," he murmured, standing. "Is it the colour? Does he have eight legs? Is he hairy? Does he scuttle about? Do maidens scream when he runs by?"

Estel was giggling by the third question. "No, Gandalf! Don't be silly! I'll draw him for you, then you'll know why!"

"You do that, my boy. Now, tell me. When you were standing in that room with your mouth hanging open, ready to catch flies I've no doubt – did you hear us say anything?"

The twinkle had gone. Estel looks up. He looked even smaller next to the tall, broad-shouldered wizard.

"Yes, Gandalf," he says, unafraid.

"Tell me," the old wizard says, all his attention on my brother.

"Papa said the secret needs to stay hidden. I think that's what he meant. He used more difficult words. Was Legolas there? I didn't have time to see."

"Do you know what he meant?" Gandalf says, pushing the door a little way open with his hand.

"No, Gandalf. I know we keep lots of things safe and secret here. Like that sword. Is that what you're talking about?"

"Secret and safe? Yes, Estel, that is exactly what we have been talking about. Exactly. Now, go with your brother, draw your picture and reveal for me the secret of your pony's name."

"I will!" Estel is happy and free of any guilt for his error. "Come on, Elladan! I have to check something!"

I smile at Gandalf and let Estel drag me back to the stables.

There, Elrohir is leaning over the stall, rubbing Spider's nose.

"Ah. There you both are. I see, Estel. I see."

Estel nods enthusiastically. "I thought I was right!" he says.

Over an hour later he is beginning to be happier with the picture he is now carefully shading. He is back in bed, his impromptu trip to the stable having taxed my father's edict to the absolute limit, but he seems happy enough. He is warm, but not overly so, and he is contented. 

Until he remembers something.

"Halbarad?" he says. "I haven't seen him all morning."

"I will enquire," I offer. "And you will stay here. I have sharpened the grey and the brown pencils, so you may finish the colouring. Are you going to put him in the stable?"

"I don't know yet," he says. He is leaning over the paper, looking at it intently. "I'll decide in a minute. I will stay here," he finally says. It is a promise, and those, Estel does not break.

Downstairs, I find Halbarad talking to three people he evidently knows. I speak with them for a few minutes, making certain all is well with the boy, then go to listen in on the meeting Estel interrupted earlier.

"You left him alone?" my father asks, with more than a little disbelief.

"He promised to stay where he was. He is working on the drawing. He is taking great pains over it. Have you made progress?"

"I believe so. Gentlemen?"

I check quickly round the room for Legolas, but he is not there. It is a long way for him to come. He may be here on the morrow.

"Elladan – he has said nothing more about what he heard?" Gandalf is standing, staring out of the window.

"He told you the absolute and complete truth, Gandalf – I am sure of that," I say, though he already knows that is true.

"He must not suspect. But it will become more and more difficult to keep his history and his possible future from him. There are many evil forces at work in the world. They will be searching for him. I know I do not need to say this to you, Elrond, nor to your sons, but it must be said to all here. To keep him safe, he must be kept secret. He said those words himself. He has great powers himself, of perception and thought, and he will soon guess if we give him any clues," Gandalf says, and I feel he is giving one side of the issue weight, that we might all appreciate the dangers.

"Yet you allow Halbarad, a twelve-year old boy who knows at least something of Estel's possible future, to stay here and play with him. The temptation to tell him something will overwhelm the boy." The elf is voicing the concerns or one or two in the group.

"Is he then to be isolated from the world and from boys his own age?" my father asks. "Halbarad is his kin. I will not send him away because he may say something that Estel may question. Already they are captain and lieutenant and Estel finds nothing in this relationship to question. He must learn to lead and the risk we take is small compared to the gain."

"I think," I say quietly, for I am a youngster still to some of people in the room, "I think he must be allowed to be with Halbarad. They are already fast friends. To separate them so soon, and while Estel is not fully recovered, would be a hard judgement on both boys' characters." I mean it, too. They surely cannot be saying Estel must be immured here, never to have contact with his own people because one of them might say something?

Several heads nod in agreement and so it is decided. Halbarad will stay out the month, while Estel becomes strong again, then he will go back to his people. If anything is said then my father will explain as much as needs to be explained, and leave as much as he can unsaid.

Elrond then tells those gathered of Estel's visions and his case is discussed. Most are of the opinion that he will indeed grow out of them, or that they will become some other form of gift. It is Gandalf who ends the discussion.

"I will speak to him. Perhaps I can interpret what he sees. I can at least offer him more reassurance."

My father nods. He has been worried, I know, and to have Gandalf's opinion on the matter will be a help and a comfort to him.

"Let us adjourn the meeting, then. Gandalf, Elladan – let us go and see what Estel has drawn. I confess to some curiosity to know why he has named his new pony as he has. I never did quite understand why his horse was called Ruby."

We go upstairs and I push open the door. Estel sits at his desk, where his books are piled precariously close to the edge to make space for the large piece of paper I gave him. He is holding down the paper with the aid of his broken arm in its wrapping. He has worn the pencil to a stub but it is to good purpose: the picture is almost finished.

"It is not quite right. I don't know how his legs fit on, not exactly," he says, squinting at the paper.

"It's a fine picture," my father says. "You have shaded in his coat wonderfully well."

Estel smiles, pleased with his father's comment, for it has cost him a good many minutes' labour to finish the shading to his satisfaction.

"And really, now that you look at his marking," Gandalf says, going to stand behind Estel, "could the pony be called anything other than Spider?"

Once Gandalf had traced out with his finger the pattern that Estel had so delicately suggested in his drawing, I could see the faint outline of a cobweb-shaped filigree, covering the animal's flank. Neither Elrohir nor I had even noticed it until Estel had shown it to us in the stable.

Estel sits in front of his picture, having it admired by some the most important figures in Middle Earth, yet he is unaware of his place amongst them. In the years to come, perhaps one day he will be truly one of them, but even now they do not eclipse him.

He is becoming tired, though he does not say so. My father makes him take his medicine then leaves to try to become a better host to all the guests who have arrived during the morning.

Once Estel is settled in his chair by the fire, with a blanket over his knees and his drawing pinned up on the wall beside him, Gandalf begins to question him while I hover anxiously.

"Now, my boy. Tell me all about your visions."


	19. Rivendell Part 9

"Tell me how your visions are different from your dreams, Estel," Gandalf instructs, settling back in his own chair. He is sitting in a shaded corner, effacing himself, to give Estel licence to speak.

"They come in the day, Gandalf," the boy says, looking at the wizard. "I lose myself, and I can't see what's around me, and my head feels – odd."

"Do you feel faint? Unwell? Frightened?" Gandalf prompts, trying, I suppose, to find a word to give Estel so that he may describe his symptoms correctly.

"Not frightened. Not exactly. Puzzled," Estel says, his face reflecting that puzzlement. "A bit faint. I fainted once, didn't I, Elladan?"

I nod, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.

"I feel silly afterwards," he confesses. "I don't like it happening."

It is Gandalf's turn to nod. He does not try to tell Estel he should not feel like this, though I would have done.

"Tell me if there are any visions which you have seen more than once," Gandalf says. He is leaning forward now, his elbow on the arm of the chair and his hand supporting his chin.

"I don't remember them very well, not the ones I had when I was little. But I remember being up high, higher than I have ever been, and looking down on many thousands of beings, and they are so small. They are like the wood ants, in their nest – you know, Gandalf, those big piles of sticks and things they make, and that noise as they move about in there?"

"Yes, my boy, I know. Go on."

"And I can see a very long way. I am standing on something like a mountain or a cliff. It's hard beneath my feet and the wind is blowing. It is not safe there yet I want to stay and watch – watch over all the people."

"Do you see mountains in the distance?"

"Sometimes. A long, long way away. Blue and grey. Pointed."

"Yes. And is there anyone standing nearby?"

"Not very often. Sometimes, I think someone very tall is standing near me, and then sometimes lots of people, and they have swords and spears. And then it's very noisy, people shouting, and I don't want to be there. Gandalf! I don't like the visions then. I don't like what I see. I don't want to talk about it any more." Estel finishes in a breathless rush, his fingers anxiously gripping the blanket on his knees. He has become upset very quickly and I want to go and comfort him but Gandalf has not finished with him yet.

"Do you sense evil?" he says. Estel looks ready to spring from his seat but this is important, I know. He must try to answer.

"Yes," says a quiet, calm voice I do not at first recognise. "There is evil, Gandalf. It searches for me. It cannot reach inside these walls but I felt it when I went down the river. It is a great evil." The boy gasps, and Gandalf reaches forward, gathering him in his arms as the boy tries to breathe.

"There, there, Estel. You have done enough. You have done well. Quietly now."

My brother begins to breathe normally again and looks around him as if he has forgotten where he is.

"Gandalf?" he says, his voice tremulous. "I don't know …"

"It is all right," the old wizard says, kneeling now at the boy's feet. It is an extraordinary thing to see. "These visions will fade as you grow. You do not need to worry about their meaning. Just experience them, and remember them. Now," he says, smiling. "I think you have earned a reward."

My brother is recovering. For a moment, I had heard a near-grown man in the resolve and power of his words. Yet when Gandalf stands, Estel is still a little boy, a tired one, but not frightened or exhausted.

"A reward?" he says, re-settling himself in his chair.

"Stay here, child. I will fetch it for you."

He nods. As Gandalf leaves the room I go over to my brother and give him a glass of water. He drinks thirstily.

"You know you are safe here?" I ask.

"Yes. Papa and you and Elrohir, you won't let anything bad happen to me."

"No, we won't. Not while you are here." And when you are not here, we will still try to keep you safe. But that is in the future.

Gandalf returns, carrying a satchel.

"We need Halbarad," Gandalf says. "Would you invite him here?" he asks me. "And if you would, ask Elrond if I may speak to him later." I feel a moment's disappointment – I wanted to see Estel's reaction to whatever gift Gandalf has brought for him. But I do as I am asked.

Halbarad is still with his friends but does not take much persuading to join Estel. I go to find my father, since it seems Gandalf does not immediately need me, and we talk for a short while before he returns to talk to the latest arrivals. I am lost for something to do for a moment, then feel someone standing behind me and the touch of a hand on my shoulder.

"Legolas!" I say, laughing and swinging round to try to catch him. He is not so easily taken and steps calmly backward.

"Elladan." He is smiling, a quirky grin. "Are you getting slow, Elladan Half-Elven?"

"Slower than you, Legolas Greenleaf? Ah – I admit it. You made good time to get here this afternoon."

"I was already on my way with news for your father. When I saw others journeying here, I made more haste. How is Estel?"

"He has been unwell but is improving rapidly. He will overwhelm you with tales of his adventures. He has a broken arm and a new pony."

Legolas' eyebrows gave away his surprise. "What happened to Ruby?"

We are moving towards Estel's room as we speak, Legolas unbuckling the harness which carried his knives.

"It was an event which caused him much sorrow."

"Then he shall have my full attention as he tells me all about it." He stops for a moment. "I wish to put away my gear before I enter his room."

So it is a few minutes before we walk together down the last corridor, speaking of nothing in particular.

"No!" A shout from his room hastens our steps. "No! You shall not take me! I shall fight you to the last drop of my blood!" It is Estel.

"My captain!" Halbarad, as loud and as full-blooded as Estel. "You have my sword! I am with you!"

Legolas is a step in front of me. He is intent. If anyone is attacking the two boys he will be merciless. He stops dead in his tracks by the door.

Then he laughs.

I come to stand beside him. There, on the floor, three figures, all cross-legged. The two boys sit together, while Gandalf sits opposite them.

"Ah! Greenleaf comes to my rescue," Gandalf says, hardly glancing at Legolas. "It is hardly fair, two warriors against one old man. Sit here and defend me!"

"Halbarad! We need reinforcements. How many do we have in reserve?" Estel says, smiling at Legolas but not breaking the flow of the game they are playing.

"There is but one, sir. A poor, broken-down fellow he is, but he may serve."

"Are you referring to me?" I ask, stepping forward. "Then I am honoured, lords, and I shall serve to the best of my ability, poor though that may be." I bow. Estel looks at me and grins broadly, before taking up the die and shaking it in his cupped hands. He throws the die.

"Six!" he shouts triumphantly, and begins to move beautifully carved, ancient pieces across a board which is lying flat on the floor. I know the game, one of strategy and warfare, and I can immediately see that Estel is winning. "We have you nearly surrounded, Gandalf! Even Legolas cannot help you now. Hello, Legolas," he says suddenly, dropping back into his own character for a moment.

"Hello, Estel," says Legolas. "I think you may be right. Gandalf – do you think it might be time for a strategic retreat?"

Gandalf growled, "Nonsense," but his pieces are falling fast. With cheers from the two boys, which I heartily join in, though I have done nothing to help, Gandalf gathers the die into his hand and rolls a two. He is lost. There is no hope for him, whatever strategy he chooses. He sighs and knocks his pieces over, the signal for defeat.

"You play well, boys," Gandalf says, easing himself to his feet and back to his chair. "Too well for me."

But just as we are all congratulating Estel, my brother gets up and goes to Gandalf. He has a very serious look on his face.

"Gandalf," he says. He stands with his good arm behind his back. "I believe you allowed me to win."

There is silence. I have little doubt that Estel is right.

"Yes, I allowed you to win, Estel. For a purpose. Can you guess what that purpose is?"

"No. I can't," the boy says moodily, as if his victory means little to him now.

"Do you think you will always win battles yourself, with no help?" Gandalf asks. "Do you think that if you have to share a victory it is not worth having?"

"Halbarad helped me – I'll gladly share the victory with him!" he says.

"Sometimes, those you count as an enemy will help you to victory. You must learn to be grateful for it, and indeed to seek to bring your enemies onto your side. I know, boy, it is a hard lesson for you, and you have had a few of those in the last few days, but I hope you will consider what I have said. Your visions come from the past and the future. You will be in a high place one day, and will look down on others. Will you see them only as friends and enemies? What will happen to those who have opposed you and lost, Estel? Will you put them to the sword? Will you take away their lands and their dignity?"

Gandalf is speaking in earnest now, and the strength of his voice has grown as he speaks. Estel seems to be standing in his shadow, uncertain, even afraid.

"Will you be able to allow them to sacrifice themselves for you?"

"You have been speaking to Papa, haven't you. About me running away."

"Yes, my boy, I have. You should not have done so, though no one here will upbraid you for it. You have a great deal to learn, a great many hard questions to answer, before you are ready to go out into the world. Do you understand that?"

"Yes. Yes. I think I do. Though I do not know the answers to your questions."

"That's all right, Estel. I do not think I know the answers either, at present. You and I may have to learn the answers together. Come, we have time for a few tricks before you must rest. You will come down to supper tonight, for a short while. Wear your best clothes and stand next to your Papa, and be admired. There now, don't blush like that. Legolas, bring that tray here."

Legolas does as he is told and holds the metal tray firmly. Gandalf places something on the tray and grabs a spill from beside the fire. He lights it then touches it to the tiny pyramid. There is a bright light, a strong smell and then the pyramid throws out tiny red and yellow and blue sparks.

Estel gasps. He has never seen Gandalf's indoor fireworks. We gather in the darkening room to watch snakes crawl from little black pellets, and a tiny, fiery butterfly climb into the air out of a brown cocoon, all created by Gandalf.

Too soon, it is over. Gandalf is gone, taking Halbarad with him.

Estel has been leaning against me. He looks up, his face full of wonder. "Was anything ever as wonderful as that?" he asks.

"Come. Let us get you ready. You can tell Legolas all about Spider if you like."

"Yes. I will. But Elladan – I have so much to think about! I want to know the answers to those questions he asked."

As we get him ready, Estel chatters to Legolas, making my job of helping him rather more difficult than usual.

"We buried Ruby down by the river," he says. "I'll take you there tomorrow, if you want."

"I would be honoured," says Legolas. "He was a noble horse."

"I broke my arm when I fell in the water." Estel holds out his arm for inspection. Legolas checks the bindings for him and nods.

"It will be well soon, Estel. Then I will give you some more lessons with your bow. You will need to pull carefully for a month or so yet but we can strengthen your muscles in your back, here, and in your shoulder, without disturbing the bone."

"Come, Estel, let me slip this on," I say, holding out his tunic. He puts his arms in the air and disappears into the garment, emerging and shaking his hair off his face. I begin to fasten the ties but Legolas takes over.

"He must wear his circlet," he says.

"It doesn't fit," Estel grumbles. "It's getting too small!"

Legolas ties the last fastening then looks at the circlet, trying it on Estel's head. It is true that it was made for a smaller child. Legolas takes it in his hands.

"It was made to grow with you, you know. Watch." He takes it in hands that seem too delicate for any task requiring strength. Yet under their pressure the metal moves, the pattern of wires changing subtly, and now it fits. I had forgotten this trick of elvish smith-work.

"Now we had better braid your hair," Legolas says, though his glance tells me he is teasing the boy.

"No! I'm not waiting while you do that! There are people downstairs and I want to meet lots of them!"

Neither Legolas nor I could have persuaded him except by holding him still and forcing him. I did insist on brushing his hair until it gleamed and he was pulling such faces I thought he would scream if I continued.

Legolas laughs gently at him, yet he is another who would die rather than see any harm come to my brother. We shall keep him safe while he tries to find his way through to the truth of the world. Gandalf and my father lead him and I have my own vision of them, one on either side, drawing him forward carefully into the darkness, as Elrohir and Legolas and I defend him.

I do not know his future. I tell myself he will be king, yet I cannot always believe it. Yet, as he chatters to us and remembers all we tell him about people, I cannot refrain from adding, in my thoughts, the idea that these are his people.

Gandalf has begun to point him towards the moral questions he must, in the long term, resolve for himself. Yet this interest in people – that comes from a heart that is true and honest and open.

I hope against hope that he will always be so.

When he stands for his final inspection, dressed in dark green tunic and leggings, his circlet shining against his dark hair, my vision of him sharpens. He travels into a dark future, but he does not travel alone.

"Go on, Estel," says Legolas. "Best foot forward!"

Estel looks doubtfully at his feet but it is only a hesitation. He is soon on his way, leading us to the hall and to the next step in his journey.


	20. Rivendell Part 10

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from writing about them.

For this section, we return to Elrond.

All the guests are seated, talking to one another and eating and drinking their fill. How many such meals have I presided over? Countless numbers of them, stretching away into the past. Yet they are always a delight to me and especially tonight. The conference has gone well, my sons are in the house and out of danger, and so many old friends are here, too.

The candle flames dance in a slight draught. The door opens and there, standing as tall as he can, dressed in green and with the silver circlet about his dark hair, stands my youngest child. He is nervous. He has been to only two feasts, and then only to speak with the guests for a few minutes. This time, he will eat with us. It is fitting. Though he does not know it, and though many of my guests do not know it, this feast is for him.

He is flanked by Elladan, whose hand now guides Estel forward. Elladan leaves him, for he has other business to attend to but as Estel looks anxiously behind him, Legolas takes Elladan's place and follows Estel closely as my boy makes his way towards me. The guests have fallen quiet. As they do, Estel becomes more hesitant, the bright glow of enthusiasm fading a little in his eyes. This will be a trial for him but he must learn to behave himself well on such occasions.

"Come and sit beside me," I say. "Everyone – this is my youngest son, Estel."

He pauses, glances at me, then bows to the guests. "I am humbly pleased to meet you," he says.

I nod my approval and he comes to stand by me, looking dubiously at the chair that has been set for him.

"Pa – Father," he says, looking anxious.

Legolas divines the problem more quickly than I and, as I give leave for everyone to return to eating, he fetches a cushion for Estel. Without it, my son would be too small to sit comfortably at the table. But he grows – last time, he needed two cushions.

Legolas sits by him and they are soon deep in conversation, heads together, Legolas piling food onto Estel's plate until my son is protesting and laughing. I look at him and he stills, immediately concerned. We have spent long hours discussing correct manners for every occasion but this time, it is Legolas who is to blame.

"My Lord," Legolas whispers. "I apologise. I forgot where I was." He moves the overfilled plate into the centre of the table and pushes a smaller plate in front of Estel. Satisfied, I turn to talk to my neighbour about the likelihood of a good growing season this year. When I glance back, Estel is looking, well, I think mortified is not too strong a word. Legolas has indeed put food on his plate and has gone to fetch him something. A glass of water, I think. But he has left Estel with a practical difficulty. My son has one usable arm and one weakened hand. Everything on his plate seems to require a knife and a fork. While he has been ill, all his food has been brought to him already cut into small pieces. He does not know what to do now.

"Estel. Allow me to help you," I offer, and several people turn to him.

He musters all his considerable presence and answers, politely but firmly, "Thank you, Father, but I can manage." He takes his fork and stabs at a piece of meat.

I do not wish to force my help on him but he is not going to manage in this way. The meat slides from his plate to the tablecloth and I notice people deliberately looking away, to spare his feelings, I suppose. He looks at me, intensely occupied with this challenge, and helps the meat back onto the plate with his fingers.

"I can do it," he whispers and I nod my encouragement, but cutting with the edge of a fork is not an easy matter. Nevertheless, he manages to take a bite with no further mishap.

Legolas returns, putting the glass of water within easy reach and, seeing the difficulty, pulls the plate towards himself, preparing to help in a way I would not.

"Legolas," I warn, though I know he is only being kind to the boy. "My son has told me he can manage."

Estel looks from one to the other of us, unwilling I am sure to be the centre of attention in this way.

Then a number of things happen in quick succession – so quick, I am not sure which comes first. Perhaps Estel makes a grab for his plate. Perhaps the plate slips from his grasp, knocking over the glass of water and spilling its contents into the lap of the man sitting opposite. When the man stands suddenly, perhaps his movement distracts Estel as he lunges for the glass. He does not notice that his sleeve is in the candle flame. I am almost sure that is how it happens. The final result is a flurry of movement, Estel's yelp, then an overset candle on the table, instantly catching the table decoration alight.

It is over in moments, the flames extinguished, and Estel stands in the smoking ruin white-faced, his eyes wide, his tunic damp with the water Legolas had thrown over him to put out the fire in his sleeve.

I hold my breath. How will my son behave now? I expect him to run out crying. I hope he will not. He stands, and we all wait in silence.

"Father," he says, his voice trembling. "May I," and he coughs once, before continuing, "may I go and change my tunic?"

I suppose my face mirrors my astonishment. This was hardly the response I am expecting.

"Of course, Estel. Everyone – please, take your seats. It was a small mishap."

Estel is already on his feet, making his way to the door. He is doing well, too, until someone unfortunately laughs – not at him, I think, though he may have felt it was so. His pace quickens and he leaves the room without looking back.

"Shall I go after him?" Legolas enquires.

I consider his offer but thank him, and rise myself to go after him. I wish to praise him for his self-control and I know he will need help to dress. I take my leave of my guests, making some comment to lighten the atmosphere, and there is laughter in the air as I leave.

I find Estel in his room, carefully taking off his sling so that he can remove his tunic. His face is wet and I go to the wash basin to dampen a cloth to bring back with me. I put my hand under his chin, raise his face and wipe it quickly. He takes a breath.

"You did well, Estel," I say.

"They were laughing at me," he says, his eyes filling with tears again.

I wipe them then wait for him to look at me. "They were laughing with me, my son. They were not laughing at your accident."

"I didn't mean to set light to the table," he begins, tugging at his tunic as if he hates it.

"Of course you didn't mean it. Now, why are you crying? You left the room to change your tunic and return. Are you going back with red eyes, so that they will all know you cried?"

He furrows his brow. I can sense what he is about to say, so I try to forestall him. "We will go back down, you and I, and say goodnight to the guests, and then Legolas will come and talk to you for a while. He has some news that he has been saving for you. I believe it might concern a birthday present he has been saving for you."

Even this news does not immediately penetrate his gloomy mood. I dress him hastily, checking his arm to make sure he isn't burnt. There is no sign of reddened skin and I bless Legolas' speed.

"Will the table be spoiled, Papa?" he asks quietly. "It is a beautiful table. Papa, I don't want to go back and see the table all spoiled, and have all those people know I was the one to do it. Stupid arm. Why can't it just get better? Do I have to go back?"

He is dressed again now and I adjust the circlet. "This did not fit last time," I say. "Has your head become smaller?"

There is the ghost of a smile on his face. "Legolas pulled it and twisted it somehow and it fits again now. He said it was made that way."

"Ah yes," I say. I stand and check the boy over. I wash his face again, dry it, and brush his hair away from his face.

"Now, Estel, let us go together and see what we can do to prove to everyone just how brave you are."

There is a moment of hesitation but he is suddenly determined, the tears gone, though he looks tired and worn. There will be many times in his life, I think, when this look will be his, worn and sad, yet still willing to do and face what he must.

"Come on, Papa," he says. "Can I stay up a little longer? I only ate one mouthful before – before the disaster."

The Disaster. Now I know that the incident, when it is retold to his brothers and friends over the years, will be called The Disaster.

When we return, everything possible has been done to restore the table to its former state. Estel has been moved so that he sits now between Gandalf and Legolas and it is not long before food that he can manage is set before him. He looks at me and his tired face glows with happiness.

The lesson is learned. Facing one's fears, kills those fears. He will remember that now. One more lesson. One more memory to guide him. The lessons do not come cheaply. He was scared, just before we walked into the room. I stood with him, and waited for him to make the decision. He made the true one and my heart begins to hope that in him, in this nine-year-old son of mine, is the strength to tread where his ancestors could not.

My hope. My Estel.


	21. Rivendell Part 11

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Gandalf and I settle for a quiet talk by the fire, once all the guests have retired. Legolas has gone to speak to Estel but as Gandalf lights his pipe, he returns.

"He is asleep," he says. "It is as well. I must give more consideration to his gift. It is possible he is not old enough to appreciate it." Legolas settles by the window, looking out on the moonlit gardens. He seems more other-worldly than usual tonight, quieter, less engaged with the reality of our lives. I wonder what it is he questions about his chosen present but I do not question him. If he wishes me to know, he will tell me.

"He is growing fast," says Gandalf, sitting back in his chair and then drawing on his pipe for a few moments.

"He is," I say. "There is much of his father in him, but something more, too. I never heard Arathorn talking about visions."

"No. I believe there is something more in Aragorn. His visions are strange, a mixture of past and present – perhaps even of things to come. I do not think it is possible to interpret them aright," Gandalf says, half-closing his eyes. "We must be patient, reassure him and see if he grows out of them."

I watch Legolas. He is gazing upwards, staring at something I cannot see. He shines in the moonlight, the life in him lighting his face.

"I wish," he says, and Gandalf turns. "I wish I understood him better. He is an edan boy, and I know little of the edain. He has barely been on the earth any time at all by our reckoning."

"What is your present, Legolas?" Gandalf asks.

"A seed," Legolas says, moving away from the window and coming to sit by the fire. "And a piece of wood."

Gandalf raises his eyebrows. "That will indeed puzzle the boy. Are you intending to explain to him the meaning of your presents?"

"Yes, Gandalf," Legolas says, humour in his eyes and voice. "But perhaps I should wait until next year, or the year after."

"You will forget how the time has run on, Legolas, and only remember when he is fifteen and has not forgiven you for giving him nothing for his ninth birthday. I think you had better give him the present tomorrow, when he has broken his fast and is ready to put his mind to a riddle. I think he would enjoy trying to work it out himself," I offer, disagreeing with Gandalf but true to my understanding of my foster son. I can see his concentrated expression now and his pleasure should he guess aright the true meaning of the gift.

Legolas nods. "Then that will be done. Where are the twins?"

"Still speaking with some scouts who have lately returned from the mountains. Tomorrow we must have a battle plan ready. We must stop the growth of this band of orcs before they become overly confident," I tell both my old friends. "We have faced such battles before. The power of evil waxes and wanes. We must be ever vigilant."

"I shall go and find them, then. My father's scouts gave my information to bring which I should give them. My bow is ready to aid you in defence of the boy." He looks at me, the light still in his eyes. "Estel will be defended until he grows into his inheritance."

I nod, and Gandalf puffs at his pipe, and we are agreed.

Before daybreak, sounds in the house rouse me to my duties. In the great hall, people are already eating, their packs at their feet, talking in subdued voices. To my surprise, Estel is there, moving among the guests, offering them bread and dishing out plates to those who are still gathering. He is speaking to each in turn. Some say a kind word and make him smile. Some seem to brush him aside but he takes no offence, simply moving on the next person.

When he sees me, he puts down the plate of bread he is carrying and walks swiftly over to me.

"Are they all leaving today, Papa? Many say they are. There is talk of a battle"

His eyes are gleaming, as if he truly knows what this means. He has read often enough of battles with orcs, and he has seen his brothers return home with the wounds and the spoils of war. It is no use to pretend that such things do not happen.

"When we have spoken together once more, yes, there will be many who go out of here prepared for battle."

He nods and says, "When I am big enough I will fight them too, won't I? Will I fight alongside Legolas, do you think?"

Estel is looking at Legolas, who sits by the window again, as if he moved there when we left the room and has been there ever since.

"It may happen like that," I say. "But I do not know the future. No one knows that. You may lead a long, quiet life here, reading your books and making drawings and paintings for us all to admire."

"Oh, Papa! I don't want to do that! I want – I want to go out there, and have adventures and kill orcs and meet fair maidens and things like that!"

I give in to my instinct and reach for him, catching him up and swinging him round, not caring for the loss of dignity. He laughs out loud and when I set him back on his feet he playfully attacks me, swinging his fist at me and shouting, "Die, you filthy orc!"

I keep him off with one hand and growl at him, making him fight and laugh harder, until others close by begin to clap and chant, "Death to the orcs! Death to the orcs!"

Finally the game ends as I admit defeat and beg for mercy. Legolas has joined us and he is smiling at our antics. I look around; the tension is gone from men's faces and the talk is all of defeating the enemy.

"Estel," I say, pulling him close. "You are our good luck charm. You know you must stay here, don't you?"

"Yes, Papa," he says, though the smile on his face dies. "I will stay and I will do as much growing as I can. Are you going too?" Now he is biting his lip. Sometimes I have left him, when he was very little and did not really know that I had gone. Since he was four I have not left him to go to war.

"Yes, Estel. I am going, as is Legolas and your brothers. There will be many here to care for you, do not be concerned. And I will be back before you have time to miss your lessons."

"Yes, Papa. May I finish that book we were reading?" He is trying hard not to mind but it is easy to see in his face what he is truly thinking. I want to tell him he doesn't have to be brave now if he does not want to be but I say nothing.

"Do you want your present now?" Legolas says, almost as if he is expecting the boy to say no.

Estel looks at me.

"We have plenty of time," I tell him.

Legolas stretches out his hand and Estel takes it. I follow them both to a quiet antechamber and sit at the table opposite Legolas and Estel. Legolas has picked up the presents, which he had left on the seat of one of the chairs.

"There is more to this gift than meets the eye," he says, putting a small, carved wooden box in front of Estel.

Estel opens it carefully, fumbling a little but managing the job well enough. Inside there is a single seed, a large, rough-textured sphere. I watch Estel's face. It is full of curiosity. It is as I hoped – he does love mysteries and puzzles.

"Is it a plant?" he asks. "I mean, will it be a plant?"

"Of course," says Legolas. "What kind of plant, do you guess?"

Estel takes the seed on his hand and looks at it. "I see it," he says, unexpectedly. "I see it, tall and green and fair, reaching up to the sky. It is a tree, isn't it?"

Legolas looks at me, surprise on his face. "It is. It will grow quickly, too. By the time you are fifteen, it will reach thirty feet into the air. But you must plant it and tend it carefully, for this tree is tender when it is a sapling."

Estel nods, his nose practically on the seed, he is studying it so closely.

"Now," said Legolas. "What do you think this will become?" He places a piece of wood in Estel's hand. The boy turns it over, as if searching it for the answer. He seemed to solve the problem of the seed easily enough. How will he fare with this?

After some moments, he ventures, "Will it be a – is it big enough to be a bow?" he asks, truly hesitant. "I cannot think of anything else that would be this size. And it will be a small bow."

"Well done!" Legolas says. "When I return, I will show you how to fashion this into a serviceable bow and then you may practice with it, until you are strong enough to pull a bigger one. You will learn how it is made, and then you will always be able to make one of your own, at need. And you will tell me the true connection between your two gifts."

"Wood?" he says, screwing up his face. He knows it cannot be as easy as that.

"While I am gone, think on it," Legolas advises.

Estel nods. He will not forget to think about it. "May I show Halbarad now? He has a bow – I would like to study it so that I know what mine might be like. Papa," he says, the sudden flow of words halting. "Halbarad isn't going with you, is he?"

"No, he is not coming with us." I look at him, and it takes only a moment for him to remember. "Thank you, Legolas! When you come back, perhaps the seed with have sprouted. I know a nice warm place to put it! And I'll get my knife sharpened really sharp, then I'll be ready to learn how to make a bow! A bow! My own bow!" He is standing now, looking at his presents as if they are worth all the gold in Middle Earth.

"Go and find Halbarad," I say. "Be back here before the hour is up. Then we will say our farewells."

He is gone in a moment, clutching his presents, then his face appears again at the door. "Thank you, Legolas," he says then he is gone.

Legolas smiles. "He has not yet guessed the connection between the two gifts, but I will teach him that when I come back here."

"Perhaps he will have thought it out for himself by then," I say, moving back to the main hall.

"Perhaps!" says Legolas, following me closely.

We are later starting out than I had hoped but I had to be satisfied that all knew our plan. Now I sit on my horse, with my twin sons beside me. Estel and I have said our farewells and I treasure his words. "Come home safe," he said.

As he stands by Halbarad, he smiles as bravely as he can and waves.

"No adventures, Estel," I say.

"All right, Papa."

"And no riding Spider till I return. You may groom him but you may not ride him."

That's going to be a hard edict to follow but he says, "No, Papa," anyway.

I can think of a dozen more instructions but Elrohir is moving off and trying to catch my eye. I turn my horse's head and take my place in the troop. I have many misgivings about leaving him alone. But he is safe enough here and I have other obligations to fulfil apart from bringing him up. To defeat these orcs now may make his future more secure.

As I pass through the gates, I hold to my logic.

"He will not be lonely, Father," Elladan says. "He has plenty of people to care for him."

I look at my son and shake my head. "Then you are thinking as I," I say, knowing full well he is only trying to reassure himself. "We must be done with this business as soon as we possibly can."

Elladan nods. We quicken the pace of the horses and ride westwards against our foes.


	22. Spider Part 1

Thanks so much for the reviews – they are one of the greatest incentives to keep going. Please, feel free to leave a couple of words because they are much appreciated and help to ward off persistent worries about this story. So, thanks again!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from writing about them.

The moon was full the night before we left Imladris. As we ride home, it is full again. I look round as the horses move along the trackway, the trees arching overhead, and in the cold light I check again in my mind all we will need to do as soon as we reach the house.

Elladan rides with his brother, too ill to be governing a horse himself. We travel slowly. His head nods. Whether he is asleep or unconscious, I do not know. His brother supports him and Legolas rides close by. Legolas carries his own wound but he is healing well. He will need rest but nothing more. Elladan will need to be tended again as soon as possible.

There were other injuries, some in need of urgent attention, but we lost none of our company. Most have returned to their own homes, so that it is a small, weary group trailing back to Rivendell. Gandalf took his leave two days ago, saying he had business elsewhere. I shall miss his guidance.

I have been away far longer than I meant. But if I had not gone, my son would be dead. Legolas might have died trying to save him. Elrohir – who knows what he would have done to try to save his brother? I was there and I fought with all my heart for Elladan, when he was down and almost overwhelmed. My strength, added to the others was enough, barely.

We finished off every orc. None escaped. None reported back to its master. We made a pyre of their bodies and left a blackened place as a warning. Then we looked to our own.

Legolas guides his horse over to me. "Elladan is worse," he says, confirming my fear. "We must warn Estel. I don't think Elladan will be fit to keep up with him. Will he be asleep when we arrive?"

I look at the sky and judge the time. I nod. "He should be. But when he hears we have returned he will want to see him."

"Has he ever seen his brothers ill?"

I shake my head. "Nothing beyond a cut or a bruise. I will go to him," I say, though I know I wish to stay with Elladan.

"No," says Legolas firmly. "I will go and wake him, and tell him of our adventures. Then, in the morning, we can take him to see Elladan."

"Your counsel is wise," I say, smiling grimly. "I am too weary to make good judgements. Make them for me, Greenleaf."

"I will go on ahead, then." And he does, his horse trotting away into the darkness. It is well that he did, for Elladan has become restless in his fever, and it takes all our ingenuity to keep him in place for the last leg of the journey.

The house is very quiet when we carry Elladan's litter up the stairs and settle him in his own room. There is a hushed busyness as he is tended to. I supervise the work then tend to the deep wound in his side myself. The skin is reddened and his fever is higher, and I use all my power to give him relief from pain and begin to heal him. It is intense labour, and I am worn already from battle and from the long journey home but it must be done. Elrohir aids me and, in the end, he is left bathing his brother's forehead with cool water while I go to seek Legolas.

I enter Estel's room as quietly as I can, for there is no sound. There is one candle alight and by its illumination I can see Estel, soundly asleep, lying on his side. One hand is near his mouth, the other, flung out across the pillow. He looks different. His hair is wild, his face more sharply defined somehow.

Legolas has drawn a chair up to the bed. He looks round at me, hand to his lips, and I smile. Estel is asleep and, for the moment, that is best.

We leave the room and talk quietly outside.

"He knows Elladan is not well," Legolas says, "though I did not tell him the extent of his injuries. His arm is healed and he has pined for you, I think. He is thinner than he was and yet he is full of life," Legolas reports. "He wished to see you but fell asleep before you came."

"Come, Legolas," I say. "Let me dress your wound. I will speak to the boy in the morning." In truth, I would have awoken him and spoken to him then if I had not had other cares.

When Legolas is settled in his own room and resting, I return to Elladan and find Elrohir keeping vigil, though my son can barely keep awake.

"We must all rest now, Elrohir," I say. "We have done all we can for him. Others will watch him until daybreak, then we will see if there is anything else we can do to help him recover. Then we must have all our strength."

"Yes, Father," Elrohir says, reluctantly putting the cloth he was using back into the basin. "He will be well again, won't he?"

Elrohir holds in him a fear we do not name, a fear still too close for either of us to put aside easily. His mother, who will never return to us, who suffered until she could suffer no more. I must push that fear away from him.

"The wound is not poisoned. He has some infection but he will mend. He will mend, Elrohir," I say, and put my hand on his shoulder. "Now go to bed. I will call you if there is any change."

He stands, takes one last look at his twin, and obeys me. I give some instructions and Elrohir's place is taken. I can now go to my own room, to bathe and to eat and to rest until the morning light stirs me once more.

In the morning, as I dress in clean clothes, a scream sends me to the door.

"No!" someone shouts. "No! You cannot go back in there!" It is Legolas. I have never heard him angry before – shouting in the heat of battle, yes, but never this anger with its bite of fear running through it.

I hasten to open the door but before I can, I hear one last despairing shout from Legolas and then thuds on my door as someone knocks.

"Elrond! You must stop him!" Legolas says, grabbing my arm as soon as he sees me.

"Stop him? Legolas?" I say, looking round for someone to fight, or restrain. I see only Estel, pressed against the wall, his eyes wide, his breath short. He seems to be ready to spring away from Legolas who is trying to keep him there without holding him.

"Papa!" comes the plea I was expecting. "Papa! I have to get back to Elladan!"

"Of course you can, Estel. Come, let us go …"

"No!" says Legolas, and it seems to me he is more frightened now than angry. "Look at him! He has already used too much of his strength!"

I cannot make any sense of what is being said but I trust Legolas to be aware of any dangers threatening my sons. I gather myself and look Estel in the eye.

"Estel. Be calm. Wait a moment. Then we will see your brother." My tone is enough to make Estel pause, his mouth open, then slump against the wall.

Legolas watches him intently. "We must speak," he says. "Elrond – you and I, we must speak."

Estel regards us both as if we have become his enemies. I must know quickly what is wrong.

Fortunately, Elrohir comes out into the corridor, looking sleepy and dishevelled but clearly with some grasp of the situation.

"Estel," he says. "Please, come and help me find my knife. It is in my pack somewhere and yet I cannot locate it."

Estel looks at him warily. "If I help you, will you take me to see Elladan?"

Legolas shakes his head but Elrohir has already agreed. His action has given us a few moments, at least, and as Estel goes back into Elrohir's room, he leads me a few paces away.

"I could not believe my eyes," Legolas says. "He stood there and, as he touched Elladan, I saw – I saw him try to heal him. I saw it, Elrond. No one in all the long years …"

"No," I say, though whether in disbelief or agreement even I could not say. "I must see this myself."

"I saw it," Legolas affirms, trying to hold my attention. I know that at any moment, my sons would reappear, ready to go back to Elladan's side.

"He would have no control over that power," I say. "It will drain him beyond his power to recover. It will take many years of training …"

Again, the prince interrupts me. "Yes! And Elladan, ill as he is, would take all Estel's strength."

I nod, trying to think what to do for the best. Perhaps if I could just see this mystery for myself, it would help. It could also be dangerous. But I must know – and I must begin to teach him to use this strength immediately.

"I will take him in myself. I will see what happens – just for a moment. We must be prepared to pull him away, if we must. I do not think that explaining the matter will hold him back at all. If he truly has power to heal he has a great gift indeed."

We were both silent for a moment but there was no time for more of this whispered discussion. Estel stood at the door with Elrohir behind him.

"We found the knife. Now I'm going to see Elladan."

I follow closely as he leads us all, and he goes to sit in the chair by Elladan's bed, his hand reaching out to touch his elder brother's hand.

The change in him is startling. His eyes close and his skin greys as he loses himself in this ungoverned action. Legolas and I both reach for him as quickly as we can, Legolas pulling his arm back while I grasp his shoulders, turning him away from Elladan, who wakes with a gasp. Estel's cry makes me loosen my grip a little but Legolas is holding his arm firmly. I thought one of us was hurting the boy until he begins to shout.

"Let go of me! Let go of me now!" he screams "I can do this! I'm not a little boy!"

He tries to twist out of Legolas' grasp but that is his weaker arm and he screws up his face in pain.

"Estel!" I say, trying to calm him. "Estel! You are hurting yourself! Elladan will be well – you do not need to do this!"

"I do! I do! He's very ill and I want him to be well!"

"Child – be still. Stop shouting. Go to your room," I say, trying to be calm myself in the face of his fury.

"Why?" he shouts, free now of Legolas' grip. Legolas could not hurt him even to save him. "I haven't done anything wrong! I could make Elladan better, I think I could, I feel – I feel I could. Why won't you let me?" The boy takes a staggering step, going deathly pale before he leans against the chair. "I can do it!" he says, more quietly.

There is no arguing with him. He has gone far beyond his own control. I do the only thing I can think to resolve the situation.

"Let's go and see your pony, Estel. Show me how well he's doing. We can get you something to eat on the way, if you want. Here, come with me."

I take his hand. It is warm and damp with sweat, and the boy is shaking. I master my concern and lead him from the room. He cannot bring himself to look up from the floor. He tries to face his failure but as soon as we are out of the room he turns and hides his face in my robes, as he used to when he was a small child. I hold him until he quietens a little.

"You should have let me try," he says. There is still anger in his voice, alongside the fright. He has seen something in himself today that I suspect he did not like. "You should have. I could have done it."

"Come, Estel. You need something to eat. Then your pony, remember?"

He stiffens. He looks up at me, his dark eyes still wild and fierce, his temper only half reined in.

"I can't, Papa," he says. "I can't do that. He ran away and we can't find him. Halbarad and me, we looked everywhere and we can't find him. Not anywhere. My pony's gone and now you won't let me near Elladan. I don't see what use it is to be me. I can't do anything right."

He stand there, shaking, his beliefs in a secure world stretched to their limits. His hands are fists. His shoulders are set. There is no self-pity in his statement – it is pitiless, a judgement on himself which springs from a deep source. Yet he does not know – he does not understand the failures of his ancestors, for he has not been told who he is.

I cannot for a moment think what to say to him.

"Papa?" he says. He is waiting for me, his face full of questions.

"We will go and eat together," I say at last, taking his hand again as firmly as I can. "Then we will form a plan of campaign. Your pony is as headstrong as you are. He will be somewhere you have not yet thought to look. I shall put every member of this household on to finding him and bringing him home, even if it means there is no-one but us to cook the meal tonight!"

I hurry down the corridor, so that Estel must run a few steps to keep up.

"We will find him, won't we?" he says, a hint of optimism in his voice. This is a battle I must win.

"Of course we will! He's grazing somewhere, wondering when you're going to find him. Did you think we would never come home?" I ask, wondering whether it is right to slip this question in now. But it is a question that has come into my mind as I heard his moments of despair.

"Yes," he says, without any qualification. "I read all the reports you sent really carefully but it wasn't the same. I just wanted you to come home."

"I am here now. Come - food, then pony. I just wanted to be home, too."

The boy grasps my hand tightly as we descend the stairs. There is much here to talk over, much to settle but he is calm again now. The black moment is past but I shall not forget the depth of his anger, the strength of his will.

It is not a matter to be dealt with just now, however. Food and a lost pony. How glad I am to have such simple matters to resolve.


	23. Spider Part 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Thanks very much for the reviews – they are, as always, hugely appreciated.

There is movement and bustle in the kitchens and Estel shrinks from it, though the glances he receives are kindly. I draw him to a quieter space and sit him down at the large table which is laden at one end with provisions. He perches on a stool while I take the old, worn chair.

"Milk, sweetened with honey," I say, and the cook nods. "And some porridge. When did you last eat, child?" I ask as the cook moves away.

"Last night. I think it was last night. We looked and looked all day and forgot to take anything with us. Papa - why do you put finding the pony above answering my questions?" He will not look at me, choosing instead to push some crumbs on the table into a small pile.

I forget sometimes how he has grown, and how quickly he matures. It took Elladan and Elrohir much longer to discover the distraction trick. Honesty is the best policy here.

The cook brings his milk in his favourite cup and Estel drinks hungrily.

"You needed time to calm down and think of other things, Estel. You know that is so. You need the food, too. What you did, it draws strength from all of you. That strength must be replenished quickly at your age."

"I don't understand why!" he says, the wildness still in his eyes. He is discovering a great reserve of persistence in himself – no, it was always there but it has not been used in this way before.

The porridge is placed before him, and a small jug of cold milk. I see a way to try to explain what is happening to him and stay his hand, which has grasped the spoon.

"The porridge is too hot without the milk. The milk will cool it – or you can leave it to cool in its own time."

Estel, puzzled, takes hold of his porridge bowl with his left hand as if it has suddenly become a creature that will run away if he does not hold on to it.

"Now, I can pour the milk like this," and I demonstrate, pouring all the milk so fast that it spills over the edge of the bowl, taking some of the porridge with it and creating a fine mess. Estel pulls his hands away quickly and protests with a grunt as the milk threatens to soak his sleeves. Not so long ago, little hands would have played with the spill but now Estel is less carefree.

"What do you see?" I ask when he turns to me for guidance.

Estel is half-smiling and very thoughtful. His brothers started training him when he was six not just to look but to think while he looked. He successfully tracked his first snake last summer.

"The porridge – I'd have to scrape most of it off the table if I wanted to eat it." He watches a ribbon of milk as it runs and drips from the edge of the table. "And lick some milk off the floor," he says, laughing in earnest now.

"Yes? And what else?" I am attempting to hold to the serious lesson I am trying to teach but the image of him kneeling on the floor, lapping the milk up like a cat is making it difficult to proceed.

"The jug is empty now," he says, damming another flow of milk before it reaches him.

"It is. And watch," I say, taking the jug and rapping it hard against the edge of the table. A piece of it breaks off. I draw one or two looks from those who pass by but no one will interfere in this important lesson. I set the jug on the table.

"Now it is no longer even a jug," he says, reaching across and running his finger around its rim. "It could be mended but you could never really use it as a jug again."

"Clear up the mess, Estel. Begin again."

He fetches a cloth and a bowl, and wipes till the table is clean. He puts the jug in the waste bucket and asks for another bowl of porridge then comes to sit back next to me. The wildness is subsiding in him, replaced by a keen interest in the story I am telling him with the help of his breakfast.

Another bowl is placed before him, and another jug with some milk. He says nothing for a minute, then gently picks up the milk and pours it in a thin stream onto his porridge, just enough to cool it without spilling any. "I couldn't do that, not long ago. When I tried, I poured milk everywhere and Elladan laughed because you'd only just dressed me and I was soaking wet again." He grins at me. "I remember, Papa. I think I understand."

"Tell me, then," I encourage him, amazed he remembers something that happened six years ago so clearly.

"Elladan is the porridge. I shall tell him that later," he says, on the edge of laughter. "He burns, and he is no use to anyone because he is too hot." He takes a mouthful of porridge and mimes the expression and the actions of someone who has just recognised it is too hot to eat. The imitation is exact and I begin to laugh myself.

"The milk is me. And I tried to pour myself too fast and it made him wake and then I went everywhere." His hands go out across the table, fingers spread, and I see the milk again as it spilled a few minutes ago.

"Yes, that is just how it was. You would have done both yourself and him great harm if we had not pulled you away."

"Empty," he says. "I would have been empty and useless." I half-expect him to lose his humour but it is still there as he takes another spoonful of the porridge and wolfs it down. "I see, Papa, I see."

"I will train you to pour the milk wisely, Estel but you will have to be patient. And eat your porridge more slowly – you'll give yourself hiccoughs."

Too late. We have to pause while he holds his breath and waits for his diaphragm to stop jumping.

"How long?" he says at last. "Oh! I forgot my seedling tree!"

He is about to jump from his seat but I place a warning hand on his shoulder. "Patience, Estel. Food, tree, pony. Understand?"

He settles again and nods as he begins to eat his porridge more sensibly. But he has not finished his questions yet.

"Legolas hurt his arm. He showed me. Why didn't I try to heal him? Why Elladan?"

"Legolas is elven, child. He will shield himself from you unless his need is very great. The wound was minor. And I believe it may be because the ties of family run deeper than the ties of friendship at your age." The truth of it is that I am not sure why Elladan should rouse in my youngest such a fury of desire to heal, nor why it should happen now, without a sign of such a gift before. He has much to learn but I have as well. I will have to go to my books as soon as we find the pony and see what I can find out.

Estel raises his eyebrows and seems on the point of another flood of questions but I forbid him and insist that he eats all his food. He is looking better by the moment, his flesh tone more natural and the sweat gone from his hands and his brow.

In a short while he is finished and sits, waiting for me to speak. Patiently – he is doing his best to sit patiently.

"May I ask you something, Papa?" he asks, with a wheedling tone drawn from his repertoire of ways to influence me.

Sighing, I turn towards him. "One question more. You may ask one question more."

I hold up my index finger and he sighs.

"Is the answer to Legolas' puzzle, that he set me before he went, you know? Oh." He says. He has used up his one question and knows I will not budge just because he made a mistake.

"You must speak to Legolas about that yourself," I say.

He huffs crossly but gives in. "My tree," he says carefully. "I have tended it every morning and it has already put out two more leaves. It is that high," he tells me, measuring the height carefully between his two hands. "It is in the glasshouse and no one is allowed to go near it except me, and the head gardener and Halbarad. And Legolas. And you," he says generously, smiling at me.

"Oh, child," I say, reaching out for him. "I am glad you came here. It has been too long since someone has made me laugh with them as you do."

He jumps up and comes for a hug before he sets off for the glasshouse. I look at him for a moment and then exchange a few words with the cook.

"I am sorry about the jug," I say. "But it was necessary. And the first bowl of porridge."

"My lord," says the cook. "We have tried to keep him still long enough to feed him but he has grown too thin again. I will make him something special for a mid-morning break and then he will have his midday meal under my own supervision. You will not keep him away just to find his pony?"

"No. He will be brought here to eat at regular mealtimes from now on. But don't tell him or he will immediately start to try to break the routine."

The cook nods and returns to his baking.

I follow Estel outside. It is cold and windy, and there is rain in the air. Estel is running round and round the tree which stands in the middle of the greensward, waiting for me impatiently, I suppose. When he sees me he runs off towards the glasshouse in our walled garden. It is built against a wall and in the summer months, it catches enough sunlight to maintain a good heat. In winter, we keep it warm with a fire, enough to keep off the frost, and in that way preserve plants that could not normally live even in our sheltered dell.

I precede my son into the glasshouse and he carefully shuts the door. Someone has been teaching him about this place while I have been away.

He leads me down to a bench covered in small stones. In pride of place, with clear air all around it stands a small clay pot. Right in the middle is a shoot, which bears four leaves and the bud of another pair of leaves at its tip. He takes up a small watering can and pours a little water onto the earth in the pot and onto the stones on the bench underneath.

"You have to be very careful not to touch the stem," he says. "It will need to be given a new pot soon, Papa. Look!" He gently lifts the pot and underneath, through the hole in the bottom of the pot, two small white roots show. "The gardener will help me, and I shall be very gentle with it and make sure I only touch the leaves. He says it is a very rare tree and that I need to make sure every day that all is well with it."

He is kneeling now, elbows on the bench and head in his hands, looking at the tree. I wonder if he has been speaking to it too.

"I shall be here when you move it to its new pot, Estel. I would like to see how that is done. I am too often busy with my papers and books and rarely have a chance to see such things."

"I didn't think it was going to grow!" he says. It seems I am to be treated to a history of this tree of his. "I have drawn pictures of it. I'll show you later."

There is a current of cold air, then Legolas is standing next to me, interrupting Estel's account of the seed-planting.

"It is growing strongly, Estel," he says, and he looks up proudly. "It will be strong enough to be planted out in the summer, I believe, though you will have to protect it from wild animals while it is becoming established."

"Yes – and water it every day, and make sure no insects decide its leaves are good food!"

"Have you thought on my puzzle?" Legolas asks, kneeling down by the boy and gently reaching out to touch the new, pale leaves.

"I have thought but I do not know if I have the right answer."

"Tell me," Legolas encourages. I hope he knows what he is doing. Estel likes to be right.

"This is the tree from which the wood will be taken to make my bows?" he asks, watching Legolas carefully as the elf strokes one of the leaves.

"No, that is not it. You may use many woods to make bows, and I will teach you all I can about that in the next few days, before I must return home."

The rain rattles on the glass. Estel, startled, asks, "Will it be all right in here? Does the glass break?"

"No, Estel. Your tree will be safe in here, never fear."

He relaxes and I suddenly see another new tree, a tiny sapling, carried in the hand of someone unfamiliar to me, a tall man. I cannot see where he is and I do not know the meaning of the picture which comes into my mind but I know that it is important. I treasure the vision but I will keep it to myself. Perhaps, some time in the future, it will come true.

"Estel, the tree will replace any wood you take for your bows. You must take living wood and you must cut it carefully. If you have grown a sapling, nurtured it yourself, you will know the meaning of taking a branch from a living tree."

"Oh," is all he says. But he stares at the seedling even more intently, then reaches out to touch the leaf just as Legolas has done. "I never thought of that," he says. "I will always remember."

"Now," I say. "You have been fed and you have tended your tree. It is time we searched for your pony. But you must go and find your coat, tell Halbarad what you are doing and then we will all go to the stables. We will see if you can track your pony to his hiding place."

"I couldn't do it yesterday! And it is raining – all the sign will be washed away."

"It is not a hopeless task even yet. Will you join us, Legolas, in this quest?"

"Orcs could not keep me away!" Legolas says, grinning. "Though I think it will be a muddy trial. However did you lose him in the first place?"

Estel tells the tale of a pony that would not stand still, and pushed past him as he tried to groom it – I suspect knocking him over as it went by, though he does not say so, for he rubs his hip absent-mindedly while he tells the story. We three hurry back to the house. I think this expedition may take longer than I anticipated, for as Estel rightly said the rain will tend to wash away marks that he could easily see. Well, we must do our best.

I will break the search into small tasks, and we will feed the boy and keep him as dry and warm as we can, for he has had a hard start to the day. But he chases off again, circling the tree three times, for luck, he claims, and his energy and liveliness chases away the gloomy weather.

We will find his pony. We must.


	24. Spider Part 3

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Once we are back in the house, the list of things that need to be done seems to grow by the moment. I wonder where to start.

"I'll go and see if Halbarad is feeling better!" Estel says. "I want him to come with us too! And I must see if Elladan is all right, and then I must find my new boots."

"You're going to be good at organising expeditions," Legolas tells the boy, giving me an enigmatic smile.

"I am?" Estel says. "When? Is that when I'm old enough or am I beginning now? Will we need to take provisions, Papa? And weapons? How far do you think we will have to go? And when are you going to help me make my bow, Legolas, because I might need it soon. But then we can't stop because Spider must have gone a long way by now so I suppose we'll have to be having this expedition for at least a couple of days."

There is something in this explosion of ideas which troubles me but as I am also preparing my list it escaped me. Then I have it. "Halbarad is unwell? Why didn't you tell me before that Halbarad is unwell?"

Estel's comments slide to a stop. "I forgot," he says.

"You forgot he was ill?"

"I forgot to tell you." He is actually blushing. "What happened yesterday, it was all a bit more complicated than I told you before."

"Ah," I say. "Well then. Come into my study. We must have a little talk about this."

He is squirming to get away. "But Papa! I have to do so many things! I can tell you after we've found Spider, can't I?"

I steer him towards my study. Legolas is smiling broadly at me now.

"I shall go and see to the preparations," he says. He cannot keep the laughter out of his voice and Estel looks at him. He is not a happy boy but he manages to keep his mouth shut.

"Please, see if Halbarad is being tended," I say and he nods.

Inside my study it is a little gloomy. My desk has many papers on it which require my attention but there is time for them. There is little enough time to teach this child what he needs to know.

"Be still, child," I say. "And be quiet until I tell you to speak."

He stands in front of me doing his best to follow instructions.

"Now. You will tell me what happened yesterday. You will tell me in as few words as you can, without taking any side tracks, everything that happened."

"We went to play with – to train Spider," he started, grimacing at his choice of words. "In the morning, after I'd seen to my tree – in the morning."

He really is doing his best.

"We took him to the training-ground and had him going nicely round in circles, walking and trotting."

"I believe you said you were grooming him," I prompt, trying to steer him gently.

"I'm coming to that! Anyway, Halbarad rode him, because you said I wasn't to, and then we led him back to the rails and to tie him up there for a minute, so that I could give him a quick brush down. We were," he screws up his face in the shame of what he must tell me next, "we were being captain and lieutenant, and I said there was a warg behind Halbarad, and he swung round like this," he demonstrates, "and I jumped forward to help him and I think I startled Spider a bit. The next thing I saw was him running through the gate. It was open, somehow."

"Does he still have his halter on?"

Estel has to stop mid-thought but I cannot allow him to give me every detail. There simply isn't time.

"I think so. No – he must have."

"Which way did he go?"

"Down towards the river. We tried for hours and hours but Halbarad slipped on some rocks and hurt his ankle, so we had to come back here so his ankle could be wrapped up."

"Did you not think to get any help?"

He is silent. I know why he did not – he was hoping to find the pony before anyone discovered the boys' mismanagement of him. Well, it is not entirely his fault. I was not here to guide him and he is only nine.

"And has Halbarad been tended to properly?"

"Of course! A good captain always takes care of his men!"

"Well, now, go and speak quickly to Halbarad. Fetch anything you think you might need. We will track all day if need be and I will send riders to scour the countryside. But there may come a time when you will have to relinquish this pony and let this experience guide you in the future."

He nods sadly. It is a bitter idea but he must be prepared for the worst. I send him on his way and gather a few necessities of my own for our journey.

It is quite a while before we are ready. When Estel reports back, he is wearing such an extraordinary mixture of garments that I am hard put not to stare at him. He has a new pair of boots, which he has somewhat haphazardly cross-laced over his leggings. He is wearing one of his finest shirts – though I will concede it is one of his warmest, too – and over that, Halbarad's leather coat. It must be Halbarad's since it is clearly too long for him, though not quite long enough to trip him up. He has belted it in to take up the slack material and has a knife pushed through the belt. His cloak is rolled and tied around him in the manner of his people.

"I am a Ranger now," he says proudly.

"You're too clean," Legolas says, coming to stand behind him. "But we can soon put that right." He ruffles his hair and makes him duck. "Halbarad's ankle is swollen," he reports. "He will need to rest today."

Estel nods his acceptance of Legolas' diagnosis.

"Did you say goodbye to your brothers?" I ask.

"No, Papa. They're both sleeping. I know Elladan needs his rest but Elrohir is just being lazy. Can we go now?"

"When you have been to the kitchens. You need your mid-morning food. And we will return at midday, too. How will you grow tall and strong if you do not eat properly?"

He clamps his mouth shut and heads purposefully for the kitchens. I did not intend my words to be an order but clearly they are taken as such and like a good soldier, he does as he is told. When Legolas and I catch up with him, he is eating the spice cake which the cook has prepared for him, taking alternate bites of that and of an apple.

I nod in satisfaction and he smiles.

"Come, then. Let us see if we can find this pony," I say and he rises, brushing crumbs from his coat and grabbing the satchel at his feet. "I have food here for midday, so we can stay out a bit longer. It has stopped raining. We will stay out until we have more idea of what happened yesterday."

At last we are outside. It is windy but bright and clear now, with small white clouds flying by. We start by the training-ground and all three search for some tracks. Then I hear Legolas call Estel to him. He points to the ground. The boy stands close and then goes on his knees, his fingers splayed, touching the earth gently.

"See, Estel. Look carefully. See your pony coming this way and making this mark."

He twists his head up and looks at Legolas, puzzled. "I can't see anything!" he complains. "Except this little mark here. Is that what you mean?"

"Further on, Estel. Look – there." Legolas directs his hand and then Estel sees it, the indentation slightly curved. Most of it is obliterated under other marks but I know as soon as I see it that Legolas has judged it aright.

"How do you know it's his?" Estel asks, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Show me – show me!"

Legolas takes up a stick and draws out the rest of the print, carefully extending the curve of the mark in the ground.

"Oh!" says Estel, tracing the shape round with his finger. "This is just the right size!"

"Forefoot or hind?" Legolas asks.

"How am I supposed to know?" Estel asks.

"See the pony. See him. Here – and here." Legolas sets off crabwise, pointing out the marks which begin to make a pattern, though it is lost over and over again in the mud and foot and hoof prints which crisscross this roadway. Estel is following him, setting his hand in each print as he goes, until the pattern begins to become clearer.

"This one is on the same side as this one," Estel says, giving us his thoughts aloud. "This one, that falls here – then that one, then this one." He is making progress now and Legolas stands, watching him intently.

"This is the print of his fore foot," Estel says confidently. "And this is his hind foot!"

"Yes. Now. Follow him as far as you can. I will guide you if you need me to."

"I can do it!" Estel says, moving more quickly now, reaching out with his hand to find tracks which are obliterated then appear again.

"He is trotting now!" he says, moving more quickly as if to keep up with his pony. "I can see him! I can see him!" He is off down the track, so absorbed in finding the tracks that he does not notice the large puddles through which he splashes, or the mud on which his feet slip. Then he comes to a dead halt.

Legolas has stepped back and comes to walk by my side. "He learns quickly," he says. "But he will be balked in a moment. There – see. Should I leave him to find the way or help him?"

"Help him," I say. "He is excited now and I would not have him lose hope so soon." Estel is casting about, for he has come to a crossroads where many horses have been and the recent rain has reduced the marks to a muddy wash. He does not give up but he does not find anything, either, though he crosses and returns over all four tracks.

"Halbarad and me just went straight on down to the river, Legolas," he says when he comes back. He is panting a little for he has been working hard.

"Why?" Legolas asks.

"I just thought it seemed the right way to go. But there are none of his tracks anywhere that I can find."

"Then we shall look together," he says and the pair go back to work. I look up at a bright sky but on the horizon, a line of darker clouds quickly approaches. We have an hour at most before it rains again.

Suddenly there is a shout from Estel, who has been working just ahead of Legolas on the road that leads to the left at the crossroads. I am pleased it is the boy who has found the marks, and from Legolas' surprised glance I suspect he had found nothing himself. I hurry over to Estel, who is pointing at the ground and there, once more, is the evidence of his pony's escape.

"Well done!" I say. "That required some skill to find – it is nearly hidden under the larger hoof print. Now, go on."

The boy runs forward, hunched over looking for sign, and Legolas and I follow his lead. We have no more stops for a while, then Estel pauses and begins again to cast around. We catch up and he stands, hands on hips, looking ahead then to each side. We are standing in a field which will later yield a good hay crop. Beyond it, the mountains climb over one another up to the sky, their peaks piercing the clouds. A light drizzle begins to fall and the views mists over.

"I have lost his track," he says, crossly. "Yet I do not understand why. It had become easier and easier to follow but now it seems as if he has jumped into the air and flown away."

"Then let us pause here for a moment, and think," I say, giving Estel some water to drink. He stares all round but shakes his head. The pony is nowhere in sight.

Estel narrows his eyes as he thinks. "I must have missed something," he says at last, and prepares to backtrack.

"That is good thinking," I approve and watch as he patiently walks back along the track. I want to give him some advice but Legolas lays his hand on my arm.

"He will see it, I think. The pony left the trackway fifty yards back. But he will have to be sharp-eyed and must not give up."

We watch him walking the edge of the track, pacing quickly, and Legolas calls, "You are working too quickly! Be patient!"

Estel slows but finds nothing, and he has gone past the place Legolas pointed out to me. Legolas watches, then calls again. It is raining more heavily now and we need to get among the trees for some shelter.

Estel comes back towards us, his shoulders a little slumped now, and I want Legolas to go and help him but Estel suddenly pauses, near to falling over his own feet as he stops and peers down. Then he is off, bounding through the grass with a whoop of joy that tells me I was right to say nothing. We follow him quickly and he runs ahead of us, following his horse's trail down the field towards the river.

I had planned to let him find the place where his pony reached the Bruinen., then stop there, with that useful information. Estel has other ideas. Though it is raining hard when we reach the river, he is searching in the shallows, splashing about with his coat trailing in the water.

"Are you hoping to track him over the water?" Legolas asks, while I go after my boy and haul him out.

"Estel! The water is freezing! Legolas, start a fire. Come here, child!"

Estel suffers me to untie his cloak from round him and wrap him in it, while Legolas searches out some dry wood and starts a fire.

"I saw his prints go right into the water," he says, his teeth chattering with the cold. "The bank is all muddy here. But they do not go very far and I thought I could see whether he went upstream or down. He couldn't cross, could he, Papa?"

I am busy rubbing his arms to warm him and cannot think of the answer he needs. Smoke begins to rise from the flames and I push Estel closer to the warmth. Legolas feeds the flames with more wood and Estel soon stops shivering.

"Could he cross here?" Estel asks again, pulling his cloak more tightly round him. "Will we have to cross here?"

"He could," Legolas answers. "But would he? He is long way from food and the comfort of his own kind now. It would seem more likely that he would try to make his way back."

"Let us return to the house, then, and I will send others here to track him further. You have done well, child."

"No!"

There now, why didn't I expect that?

"No! I want to go on! It's dangerous for a pony out here and he's been away days! He won't be able to look after himself!" Estel is pulling away from me hard. "We have to go on! We have to cross the river!"

The rain eases again but the wind is greater, throwing the heads of the trees around and showering us with droplets. Legolas is crouching by the fire, watching Estel with interest.

"Estel …" I begin, marshalling my arguments in favour of returning for more help.

But as I begin, a sound echoes down from the woods beyond the river. It seems to quieten everything as it comes down on the wind and Estel stands frozen. Legolas has jumped to his feet and has his hand to his brow as he peers into the distance.

"Wolf," he says, his voice hushed.

"Spider!" Estel shouts and leaps beyond my grasp, running straight for the water. "Spider!"


	25. Spider Part 4

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no money from writing this fiction.

(I uploaded the wrong version of chapter 3 of Spider. The correct version is there now – only minor changes but they were annoying me!)

The bed of the river slopes steeply and Estel is up to his thighs before I can catch hold of him. I have to lift him clear of the water then clasp him to me as I wade back to the shore. He is shouting at me, his cries becoming more and more desperate but I keep silent until I set him back on his feet.

"Estel. You will cease this noise now. Do you understand that the louder you yell, the more likely you are to scare …"

"But Papa! He's only got you and me and Legolas to defend him!"

"Estel!" I hold him firmly by both arms. "Stop shouting! Now!"

He finally stops but he breathes heavily and he is still trying to pull away from my grasp.

"Listen to me. The river is too deep for you to cross here. There is a bridge a hundred yards upstream. We can cross there." I try to keep my rising anger from my voice. My quieter tones begin to drag Estel's attention away from his desire to run to aid his pony.

He stands before me, dripping river water onto the grass, shaking and desperate. He takes a deep breath and comes back to himself.

"Now?" he says, though his voice is uncertain.

Legolas, who had been tending the fire, stands suddenly and peers into the distance. We all hear the wolf's cry echoed by another, and another. They are bold, these wolves, but the land beyond the Bruinen here is wild. They will not cross my river but they hunt in the forests close by when they are hungry enough.

"There!" Legolas says quietly. "And there – a herd of horses. Wait," he says, when Estel tries again to free himself. "Men with the horses – three, perhaps four. The horses are becoming difficult to control. The men need fire to defend themselves, Elrond, and they do not have time to kindle it!"

He takes four branches and ties them together with a leather strap, then makes another torch quickly, and a third. "There is no time, Elrond! We must help them. Leave Estel here! He will be safe."

"My pony! Legolas! Can you see Spider with them?"

I look now and see the straggling band of horses and men, all running for the bridge. But it is too far. Then I see his pony, and he knows from the way my hands grip his arms more tightly that I see him.

I know immediately the time it will take to persuade him to wait here for us, or return to the house. He will come after us, braving my anger at his disobedience, having weighed that against the chance of saving the pony he lost through his carelessness.

I make my decision.

"Light the torch, Estel. Stay with us, as close as you can! We shall show them the way!"

And that is truly all I thought, that we would run to the bridge and guide the men and their horses to safety. I heard Legolas' grunt of surprise but his torch was already alight and he was running hard, along the bank. He would do what he could to keep Estel safe by putting himself first into danger but his haste only encouraged Estel to run after him. With our torches blazing we ran, Legolas, Estel and I, along the bank of the Bruinen and back to the track we had left but a few minutes before.

The bridge, dark and high, crosses the river in a single span. It is narrow, room for only one horse and one man at a time but it has no guard. None has ever been needed beyond my own hold over all Rivendell.

Legolas is on the other side already, running full pelt for the band so desperately in need of his aid and still so far way.

Estel runs after him and I stay close to the boy, aware that we have only knives between us. Legolas does not have his bow, I do not have my sword yet here we are, running towards great danger with only fire to protect us. Yet it is too late to change course now. We are half way over the span of the bridge and I watch the prince lengthen his stride still further as he outdistances us.

Estel runs as he has never run before, with a quiet purpose in him, a single-mindedness that gives all his energy to this race. His brand burns bright, thanks to Legolas' skill in preparing it, and he has his knife ready. It will not be long now, and he will use that knife if he has to, I know. I want to gather him in my arms and take him home but I cannot do that to him. His spirit is being given full rein, and it is a strong, true spirit giving him strength to do what he must.

Then there is no more time for thought, for the horses are upon us, around us, stamping and snorting their terror. They halt suddenly, one rearing. Why do they not go straight for the bridge? I turn to look and there, between us and the bridge, three wolves have come round behind us. They are indeed bold, for the risk to them is great. For the first time I wonder if they have some purpose other than taking down the weakest horse and I grasp Estel and pull him closer to me.

He is scared now, but he faces outward and does not turn to me for comfort. The men are trying to drive the horses forward but they mill, and will not move, surrounded as they are by the pack.

Shouts, and two of the men, aided by Legolas, drive off two wolves that have crept too close. We must move the herd towards the bridge, for they are our only protection, as we are theirs.

"My lord!" one of the men shouts, and I recognise a local man, good and true. "There is a sword in my pack! And we have a bow, though we only have three arrows left."

The weapons are distributed hastily, Legolas handing his torch on to one of the men before he begins to circle, searching for the truest aim. Our position is changing, the horses moving parallel to the river and away from the bridge. The world darkens under the heavy clouds but there is no rain and our torches still burn brightly.

"We must attack!" says Legolas. "They are driving us into the trees! Kill the three between us and the river and then we must try to cross it!"

It is a desperate plan but he is right, we cannot stay here. "Hold your torch high, Estel," I counsel him. "When we come to a river I will put you on a horse. You must stay on its back, as we have taught you."

"Yes, Papa," he says, holding the torch out in front of him. He takes a step forward then my attention is pulled from him as Legolas fires one arrow and a wolf yelps and falls. That death seems to unleash the rest of the pack and they crawl towards us, snarling and maddening the horses still more. Their purpose no longer seems to be take a kill but to defeat us. Never have I known wolves behave like this. They work together to drive us, keeping just out of range and I snatch a glance at Estel, who still holds his torch. He swings it to and fro, keeping it alight, and he is close by.

Legolas steps forward, his tall frame tense for a moment then relaxed as he sights his foe. The arrow is loosed, finds its mark and he immediately stands aside while we drive the horses towards the river. One wolf remains, holding its ground, baring its teeth at us and it is my turn to deal with this animal, for Legolas must keep his third arrow as our last chance. I take a pace forward and the wolf leaps but it is no match for me. I kill it swiftly and then reach out for Estel's hand as I shout to all to run for the river.

I search round for a horse I can master and for Estel, who has not come to my call. There is a cry behind me and I turn immediately to respond to Estel. I can see Legolas already running to his assistance and can hear him call but Estel stands still, his torch in front of him, as the horses run past him.

"Die, wolf!" he screams, rushing at the beast which cowers away from the flame. He takes the torch back over his shoulder and with all his strength swings it as he runs forward.

For a second, I cannot move. I watch as the torch hits the wolf's head, throwing it back on its haunches. Estel tries to stop but falls headlong, the torch knocked from his hands, and lies at the feet of the great wolf. He takes out his knife and stabs at the beast and I grasp my sword and run to his aid. Legolas is quicker than I and he fires, missing the boy by inches and downing the wolf. It falls on Estel but he is on his feet again in a moment, his hands bloodied and his face full of the wild triumph of his victory.

I glance round. The horses are moving away from us, driven by the men who have other cares apart from our safety as they try to find off the last of the wolves. I summon up every ounce of willpower and call to the horses. One surely must hear me, for I am master of horses and the words I use are powerful ones. Two turn, held in indecision and then a third trots forward boldly, coming to my summons. It is tall and strong and its back is a safe haven for my boy. I catch him up and throw him and he lands on the horse's back and quickly settles himself, automatically grabbing a handful of mane. Then we run.

The wolves are close on our heels, the horses in front of us and I keep close to the horse, trusting that Legolas is there too. Then I see him astride another horse and I know he will make the river crossing alongside Estel, so that no harm will come to him. Estel is shouting his triumph into the air but then he looks for me.

"Papa! Run! They are close behind you!"

"Hold tightly, child, there is the river!"

"Spider! Spider!" he is shouting, looking frantically around.

Legolas reaches across and catches his attention. "There, Estel – look!"

And his pony, surrounded by larger horses, gallops boldly forward with the rest and does not hesitate when we all rush headlong into the water. Then there is only the strength of the water to contend with, but this is my river and, though I have not had time to command it, I am safe. The plunge of horses, the crash of spray over me and the speed of our flight overwhelms my senses then we are standing, the horses blowing hard, the men sitting on the bank and my boy still sitting high on his horse. Legolas jumps down and goes to him and the boy slides into his arms.

I go to him. He is tired but he is beaming with joy. As soon as Legolas has asked him if he is all right, and he has nodded, we let him go to Spider.

He stands in front of the pony. "Naughty Spider!" he says firmly, shaking his finger at the pony. "You must do what you're told! You mustn't run away!"

At my side, Legolas laughs breathily, the tension of the fight released. He is watching the wolves slink away and disappear into the trees.

Estel has given up reprimanding his pony and has his arms round the animal's neck instead.

"He has the stoutest heart of any boy I have encountered," Legolas says, laughing no longer. "He might have dispatched that wolf himself, had he been a little stronger."

"I am grateful, Legolas. Grateful for your skill. Now we had better get ourselves back to the house. This victory pleases me more than any battle against orcs. He is a fine boy, a fine boy."

And I walk to him to tell him just that. His fatigue is beginning to make his shoulders slump but he is still full of chatter about what has happened.

"Come, Estel. Ride your pony back. Look, he is standing waiting for you," I say, stilling him with a hand on his shoulder.

And indeed it seems that at last Spider is going to behave himself. Estel jumps onto his back and waits for the adults in his life to sort themselves out.

An invitation is extended and accepted, and we all move off together, driving the horses between us. Estel ride proudly between us, looking from one to another and chattering excitedly, though he must be cold and uncomfortable. Gradually he falls quiet as we reach the lights of the house. Yet his back is straight, his grip on his pony is sound and his head is up.

His behaviour will be food for much discussion over the next few days. But I will give him his victory and I watch with pride as he jumps from his pony's back and leads him to the stable, then insists that he tends to the pony's needs before his own.

And at the evening meal, when he is once again clean, and warm, and full of good food, he tells his story with a modesty which pleases me. He begins to drowse while the adventure is woven into song but he is still awake at the end of the meal, looking about him with a new expression.

He encountered a wolf and the wolf died. His pony is back in the stable. Halbarad sits by his side and Elladan is feeling better.

All is right with his world.


	26. Spider Part 5

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Elladan has slept quietly but he is not recovering as I would like from his wound. It looks well enough, the stitches tight, and there is no sign of unnatural redness or swelling. But he is weak and listless, and he does not want to eat or to speak to us.

Elrohir's concern about his brother's illness is difficult to alleviate, for I feel it myself. I try a different combination of herbs in his tea but he is no better at midday.

During the afternoon I sit with Elladan and try to engage him in pleasant conversation but he is barely following what I say. Towards evening, his fever begins to rise again, not dangerously so but enough to worry all of us.

All day, Estel has been coming to the room to check his brother's progress. I have not given the boy enough of my attention after his adventure yesterday. I know there is much we should discuss but I cannot leave Elladan. The boy tells me he has tended his tree and that he helped Halbarad to take some quiet exercise, under Legolas' supervision. Then he groomed Spider and led him out to the training ground, keeping careful hold of him and returning him to his stable.

Legolas comes to sit with me later in the evening. Elrohir is bathing his brother's forehead.

"Estel has kept himself busy," Legolas reports, speaking quietly. "He is writing his own account of the past day. We have talked over the wolf's death and he understands it was not his victory alone."

"Thank you, Legolas," I say, relieved that one duty is now off my shoulders. I could not allow Estel to believe he killed the wolf himself. "I shall speak to him as soon as I can about running away from me into the river. I am concerned that he will put himself into further danger if I cannot make him obey me."

Elrohir looks up at me sharply. "I have felt that he is disobeying us too often, Father. I could not get him to stay here when he wanted to run away when Ruby died. I could have restrained him physically but that is all I could do."

"His spirit outgrows his body. He is too small, too immature to do what his heart demands. If he does not learn this soon, I fear for him." It is a relief to voice this thought, which has been troubling me for too long.

Elladan tries to turn in his sleep and we help him move to a more comfortable position. Though the fire burns warm, I feel it is cold in the room and go to fetch another blanket from the linen press.

The door is pushed open a little way and a small face appears.

"I am ready for bed, Papa," Estel says. "Legolas told me I might come and say goodnight. How is Elladan?"

Legolas stands and goes to him. "I said you might wait in your room, Estel. I did not say you should come here."

"I did wait! But no-one came!" He is standing in the room now but is hanging on to the door handle as if to try to follow instructions. He looks forlorn, and I know immediately what he will say next. "May I say goodnight to Elladan?"

"Come here, Estel," I say, holding out my hand to him. He runs on bare feet to me and I let him stand next to my chair, in the circle of my arms. "He is asleep. He will not hear you, but you may say goodnight to him, if you wish. Do not try to touch him."

He leans forward a little but does as he is told. "Goodnight, Elladan," he says quietly. "I hope you feel better in the morning."

We are all silent for a while, watching the one whose sleep is restless, and it seems our collective will for him to recover helps him to relax into a deeper repose.

Estel turn round to face me. I cannot resist pushing his hair from his face. His eyes are solemn and large in the half-dark. "Is there is something inside him?" he says.

"What do you mean?" I say, looking at him with all my concentration. He does not flinch.

"Is there is something in him, something that is stopping him from getting well? "

Elrohir breaks into our conversation. "He has an infection, Estel. Is that what you mean?"

"No." Estel shakes his head. He is becoming more insistent and tries to pull back on my hold. "Something in him. Like my splinter, in my foot. Something you need to take out, Papa."

"I checked the wound myself, Estel. I could neither see nor feel anything that remained in it."

Estel looks disappointed. He wants to help but I cannot even let the child touch his brother.

"It is a good idea, though. I will change the herbal compound again tomorrow. I am sure he will be well soon, with all his family here to help him. Now, it is late. You must sleep."

He nods, then leans back against me. "Legolas and me, we killed the wolf together," he says. "I thought it was just me." He is confiding something important to him, and he looks at Legolas to see if he is listening. I pick him up bodily and settle him on my knees.

"You did a great deed, Estel. You helped kill a great wolf and that is a deed you can be proud of, for he was fierce and strong. You stunned him with the torch and hurt him with your knife. Legolas tells me you are going to write your own account of the story. Shall I tell you something?"

"Yes please, Papa! What is it?"

"Come, let us go to your room and I shall tell you something I have been thinking."

I set him back on his feet and lead him away, shielding him from the bed where Elladan is beginning to stir. He goes willingly and I do not want him to have to witness anything other than his brother, asleep, recovering his strength.

When he has climbed back into bed, I pull his blankets up around him.

"Now, child. When you have written your account, I shall read it through and if it is truthful, and as well-written as you can make it, I shall allow you to copy it into the Great Book of Imladris, where all the noble deeds are recorded. I have been writing of you since you were a little boy. Now it is your chance to make your own record of this, your first great deed."

"Oh, Papa," he breathes. "The book with the gold lettering on the front? And the pictures inside that Elladan draws?"

"There are many such books, Estel. But yes, the last volume of that book shall hold a page which you shall write, though it may take you many hours to complete it. I shall only allow you to work on it for a few minutes each day, so that you do not tire and make an error. Is that a bargain?"

He nods, his eyes bright with wonder. "May I draw my tree there, on the page?"

"Of course. And your pony, and the knife that hurt the wolf, and anything else you wish. It will be your page."

"Papa. I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I ran into the river when you told me not to. It was a foolish thing to do. I only got wet. I couldn't have helped Spider."

I smile at him and he looks back, puzzled.

"Did I say something silly again?" he asks.

"I was wondering how I would explain to you that what you did was wrong. I was just smiling because if you were foolish to run into the river, I was foolish to think you would need prompting to say you were sorry."

"I don't understand what you mean," he says, settling himself back.

"We will talk again tomorrow. Now, sleep, child, and I will go and see if your brother has settled for the night. In the morning, perhaps Legolas will help you begin to make your bow. Though it is not the strength or size of the bow that is important, but the skill put into the making of the arrows. And that is a skill you will need to learn too."

I stop speaking and listen, for I can hear Elladan. I must return to him. Fortunately, Estel's hearing is less acute than mine. He slides down until I can only see him from the nose upwards. His eyes are already half-closed.

"Sleep well, Estel. Tomorrow, your day will be full, helping Halbarad, learning bow-making from Legolas, tending your tree, writing your story …"

"Looking after Spider. I will be able to ride him soon, won't I?"

"Next week. Elladan will help you. He and Elrohir together will make sure Spider does as he is told. Now, good night."

"Good night, Papa."

I kiss his brow, blow out the candle near his bed and leave him there, closing the door behind me.

For Elladan is becoming worse and it is my belief that tonight we will know. We will know if he intends to stay with us or if he will leave. For something has disturbed his spirit, I know it now, and it will cost me dear to bring him back to himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I rest, with my eyes closed, in the corner of the room where Elrohir sent me. The source of Elladan's illness has been expelled from him. I did not know that he had gone up against a creature capable of infecting him as it did. It had planted in him the seeds of despair and he had given up, despite all that we did to help him. In the end, I had to lead him to the light myself.

It is not something I do lightly. If one of our kind decides they wish to leave this life it is not an easy matter to bring them back. It is something I could not do for my beloved wife. But Elladan held on, followed me back, and now he lies in his brother's arms. Elrohir is sitting behind him, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. I rest here, spent, and wonder if I shall be called upon ever again to go through such a trial.

Dawn is coming, a grey light stealing into the room just as I closed my eyes. Today will be a bright day, for my son has returned to us.

After a few minutes of rest I open my eyes. There, on the chair by the bed sits my youngest son. He is leaning forward and holding Elladan's hand, and they are talking so quietly I can barely hear the words. Elrohir is watching them, so I feel safe to leave them be for a while.

I listen carefully and the words begin to make sense.

"You mean, you nearly went away," says Estel. "You nearly had to go?"

"Aye, Estel. But Father told me it was not yet time. I have to teach you how to keep your pony at home. You must learn to use a sword and which prey to kill and which to leave."

"And you have to help me with choosing the words for my page of the book. Elrohir's going to help with the pictures."

"I am, Brother. We have much to do." Elrohir lets his head fall back against the wall. He is as exhausted and relieved as I.

They are silent for a moment, and I gaze through half-closed eyes at the triptych of my sons.

"Elladan," Estel says, hesitantly. "Did I hurt you – you know, when I touched you, yesterday. I thought perhaps I hurt you."

"No, you did not hurt me. You gave me strength and I needed every ounce of strength last night. I did not hurt you, did I?"

"Papa dragged me away, and Legolas. I was tired and I knew something inside me had been – was - less – I don't know how to describe it. Papa helped me, told me what I tried to do but I don't think I understand what happened, not really. Are you tired? Are you going to sleep again?"

Estel holds his brother's hand tight. There is such strength in him.

"No, Estel. I shall not sleep again today. I think I am hungry."

And with that announcement, I know my son will be well and it will happen without endangering Estel. Now that he is safe we can begin to harness such power to heal as he may have. Who knows when he may need that skill to call people back into the world?

"Papa, Elladan is hungry!" Estel runs to me and grabs my arm, shaking it as if to wake me. I remember the first time he did that and I made him laugh by pretending to yawn and come awake very slowly, as if I were human.

"I heard, Estel. Run to the kitchens and tell them he is ready to eat. They will know what to prepare. Then go and get dressed. I will read what you have written soon."

"Yes, Papa!"

Then he is gone. It could have been so different this morning. Perhaps his touch was enough to tip the balance in Elladan's favour – or in favour of hope. A part of me believes that is what happened.

Hope was given to Elladan and so he is still here. It is enough.


	27. Spider Part 6

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Thank you so much for the kind and generous reviews for the last chapter. They are certainly encouraging me to continue with this long and rambling tale!)

I spend the morning with Elladan, leaving Estel once more in Legolas' care. Elladan is improving by the hour, though it will be a day or two yet before I allow him out of his room.

Legolas, Estel and I meet at lunchtime in the dining room, where the two tell me what they have been doing. They speak alternately. It reminds me of the twins when they were young.

After the meal, Estel seems to me to be tired, though he denies it, and I send him to the library to read for an hour.

"Does he seem well to you?" I ask. I am concerned. My youngest has been unwell too often recently.

"He made no complaint. The labels he has written for his drawing of the tree are wonderfully neat. We have measured it most carefully. Tomorrow I shall teach him to estimate the height to which it will grow in a year's time. The hour we spent with Spider was more trying. The pony has a mind of his own. He is slow to give his obedience to either of us."

We smile at one another. Did the twins know this when they chose the pony for Estel?

"I am grateful to you for looking after him, Legolas."

"It is a most interesting task. We are fast friends, your youngest son and I. He is constantly – surprising."

"And what of Halbarad? How is his ankle?"

"I believe he will be able to join us tomorrow. He has been reading in the library, I believe. He is a patient boy for his age."

"They are well suited. I shall be sorry to see him go back to his own people. I received a note this morning telling me he must return to them within the week. We must be prepared for Estel's disappointment. I know it will be hard on the boy, when we were expecting Halbarad to stay much longer, but a close relative of his has died and he is required by his people to be there for the funeral."

"Then I shall accompany him. I too must leave. My father sent me to attend the conference and to give what help I could in defeating the enemy but I am required at home soon. The boy will need protection on his journey."

"Estel will be very sorry to see you leave, my friend. Perhaps, when he is older, he will be able to visit you?" I ask. It is too long between one visit and the next. Perhaps Legolas does not realise that each time he becomes a better friend to Estel it becomes harder for the boy when he leaves. We account time differently. To my boy, a year is a vast expanse of time, stretching away into the distance. Incomprehensibly long. Legolas does not yet understand this.

"I hope to see him again before he is much older. Before I leave, though, I will teach him a little about the making of bows, as I promised to do," Legolas says. "Now, I shall go and entertain Elladan with stories of his little brother. He found a tiny creature eating one of the leaves of his tree this morning. He would not kill it – he moved it to another plant and told it to stay there. I hope your gardener will not mind." Legolas' eyes are twinkling.

"I will see to Estel this afternoon. I will find him something quiet to do."

And with that intention firmly in my mind, I go first to speak to the cook about the evening meal, then to the housekeeper, who has been worried about the store of fuel. It takes me a full hour after that to make my way to the library.

As I push open the door, I see Halbarad in the chair by the fire, reading from a large book. Estel sits at the table, pencil in hand, sketching something on a large piece of paper.

"Papa! Come and see if I have drawn Spider correctly this time. I keep drawing his back too long."

I walk over to the table, nodding to Halbarad as I do. Estel has drawn his pony five times, all from different directions. Two, perhaps the first to be drawn, are not very successful. Another two are more so, though each has its faults. The one he is currently working upon is quite simply beautiful.

I reach out to it and touch it. It is full of a power of its own, a likeness that goes beyond verisimilitude. It is a true portrait, with no hint of sentiment, yet the boy's love and understanding is there in it. Though his first portrait was good, this is far beyond it in skill.

He looks up at me, for I have not said a word to him. "Do you like it, Papa?"

"It will grace the book, Estel. You shall have two pages bound into this month's record, one for your writing and one for your drawing. It is well done, Estel."

He is beaming. "Thank you, Papa!" he says. "Can I show my drawing to Legolas?"

"Legolas is with Elladan still. You may show him this evening. Now, I have something I must tell you and Halbarad."

Halbarad looks up from his book.

"Halbarad, I must tell you some sad news. Your grandfather." I stop, wondering which word or phrase to use.

"My grandfather has died," Halbarad says, his eyes already filling with tears. "My people said he was feeling unwell, and he has been tired for a long time."

I leave Estel and go to comfort the strong, gentle boy who has become a part of our household. Estel, after a moment, comes too, though he does not seem to know what to do or to say.

"You will travel home in two days," I say. "Your ankle needs more rest. Legolas will go with you."

"No!" says Estel, then immediately puts his hand to his mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says. "But Hal is going and now Legolas is going too!"

He stands, his hands now at his sides, and tries not to cry. Halbarad is weeping and it is to Estel's credit that he puts his own feelings aside, as far as he can, so that I can tend to his friend. As I kneel and hold Halbarad's hands in mine, I feel Estel leaning against my back. Halbarad tells us about the old man who means so much to him, and Estel and I listen. Gradually, the boy's tears dry, and he begins to talk of returning to his own people. As he does, Estel goes away to the window and turns his back to us.

I sit with Halbarad, talking and comforting him, telling him that we shall wait for some of his family to come to collect him, then Legolas will escort them to the settlement. I keep an eye on Estel, who seems to find the view of the waterfall very interesting but my attention is on Halbarad. He is bearing his loss bravely but the next two days will be difficult.

"Papa." A quiet voice interrupts us.

"Yes, child?"

"I don't feel very well."

"Come here," I say, wondering at this sudden onset of illness. He does so and Halbarad falls silent.

I feel my boy's forehead, ask him where he hurts and diagnose sadness and concern. I send him to the kitchens for some food and drink for himself and Halbarad.

"And ask Elrohir to join us in the library, please," I say, as Estel nods his acknowledgement of my instructions. "And you may go and speak to Legolas and Elladan if you wish."

He smiles a little at that but he has been deeply affected by this news. I shall have to take care that he has some comfort, too.

Elrohir and I spend most of the rest of the day with Halbarad. I determined that he should not be alone until his people come for him, and begin to organise my time around this plan. We have enough adults here to keep him occupied and to watch over him, and he is an easy boy to entertain.

Mid-evening I go to see Elladan, who is sitting up and looks rested and in much better heart than he was last night. He is alone and I enquire after Legolas and Estel.

"Legolas took him to his room. He said his throat was hurting but he seems well. He is very sad to be losing two friends at once," Elladan tells me. He is not free of pain, as I discover when I check his wound, but he is certainly recovering.

"They would both have been gone soon," I say, helping my son to settle again. "But not both together. I will check him before long but I believe it is his sadness which is making him feel unwell. He tried to keep quiet about it. It might have been better to let him express his feelings."

"He was very quiet. He sat in that chair and listened to us speak of our last battle. I wished to discuss our tactics with Legolas. I hope we did not frighten him."

I frown. Perhaps it was not the best thing for him to hear, a description of that battle, in which we were all hard-pressed to defeat the enemy. Yet the boy must learn, for that is the world he will inhabit before too long.

"I am well, Father. Go and see him now. He needs your guidance. Legolas will do what he can but he is not you."

Elladan is right. I must go to talk to Estel, so I give Elladan his medicine and then make my way to my youngest son's bedroom.

There is a quietness about the house which is not soothing but expectant, not calm but tense. I can only think it is the bad news and illness which is here, disturbing the ancient peace of my house.

As I enter the room I see Legolas standing by the fire, staring into its depths. I go to the bed where, to my surprise, Estel already lies. He is asleep, his eyes tight shut. I straighten his bedding, test once again that he has no fever then go to speak to Legolas.

"It is early for him to be asleep," I say quietly.

"He was very tired. He wished to speak to you but did not want to interrupt you and said he would wait. He fell asleep some minutes ago."

"Then let us leave him, my friend, and go and eat, and listen while songs are sung to quiet the house. There has been much disturbance today. I will check on him later."

So we leave the boy asleep, and I keep Halbarad near me as we eat and hear the quiet music which makes the hours slide one into the other and brings peace to my heart. Elrohir ensures that Halbarad is content to take himself to bed then goes to see Estel. He brings news that the child is still asleep, a little restless but not in need of my attention.

So the night goes and as morning greys the sky, I begin to plan the day. Legolas will again look after Estel, for he will be gone soon, and I shall keep Halbarad with me. As I move to his room I feel the atmosphere in the house is restored. That will aid Elladan's recovery and soothe the boys' troubles.

I go into Estel's room. Most of his bedding seems to be on the floor. He is huddled in some strange way on the bed – there – his head is where his feet should be. I go to him and lay my hand on his shoulder to wake him.

He shifts, yawns, and rubs at his eyes. "Papa?" he says, and his voice is a croak.

"Legolas wants to give you your lesson on making bows this morning, my son. You must get up and eat so that you can tend your tree and your horse early."

He struggles to sit up. "I still don't feel very well," he says. It is unusual for him to complain so I examine him but neither he nor I can say exactly what is wrong with him.

"I believe if you get up and attend to your tasks you will soon feel better. You had a shock yesterday. You do not wish to waste time you could be spending with Legolas, do you?"

At that, he pushes himself off the edge of the bed. "I think a monster came and pulled off all my blankets last night," he says, gathering them up and dumping them back on the bed.

"I believe you may be right. You may eat in the kitchen. I will tell Legolas to meet you there."

"Yes, Papa," he says as he trails off to his water-closet.

Another night has passed. My family is all safe, my house is quiet and my guests well cared for. It is time for me to rest.

But it seems I am not to be given such a chance. There is a quiet knock at my door only a few minutes after I enter my chamber.

"Come," I say, setting down the tea I was about to drink.

The door is pushed open. Estel is standing there, in his usual odd selection of clothes. "I'm sorry, Papa. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"What do you want, Estel?" I do not mean to be anything but welcoming but he is clearly unsettled.

"I just wondered – if I could see Elladan." It is plain that is not what he came to ask but I am too wearied to consider the matter further.

"Of course you may," I tell him. "You do not need to ask now. Is all well with you?" I take a sip of the tea and wait, then another.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, all is well. By the end of the day, perhaps I will have a bow to show you." He still sounds hoarse but he is looking bright enough now, and any momentary worry I had about his health slips from my mind. I must rest.

"I shall look forward to that. Now go, Estel, and have a good breakfast."

"Yes, Papa!" he says, and leaves the room.

"Estel!" I shout. "The door!"

"Sorry, Papa!" he says, and the door is finally closed.

At last I can rest.


	28. Spider Part 7

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

My apologies for the gap in posting chapters. It was unavoidable but I hope to be back on track now.

In this chapter, Legolas takes over the account for the first time. Wish him luck!

The house is very quiet this morning. Elrond is resting at last and the household tasks are undertaken with special care to avoid disturbing him.

He has denied himself rest for too long. His care for others outweighs care for himself. I tried to tell him this but he would not listen. His sons needed him and that was enough. But all seems well with them and he must recoup his strength today to be ready for the trial of the days to come.

I had not understood how quickly Estel and I would become friends. Worse, I did not realise how much my leave-taking might upset the boy. Had I known, I might have stayed longer but now I have given my promise and Halbarad will have his escort. I had not thought to return for three or four years but by that time, Estel will be as old as Halbarad. 

I believe our lives may be twisted together in some way. I do not have the gift of foresight as do some of my kin, yet I can sometimes glimpse those things that may be. When first I saw Estel, a child of four years, I felt some tie between us which I have felt with no other. Yet then, and now, I misjudged him, laughed at him too easily as he tried to learn everything too quickly and often failed. This time, I have spent many happy hours in his company, watching him find his way in the world, and I marvel at the speed at which he comes to mastery of the tasks he is set, and that he sets himself.

The daylight grows, and I come to fuller consciousness of the world. I am to care for Estel today, keep him out of Elrond's way and occupy him, and Halbarad is to accompany us until his ankle pains him, when he should rest. These are the instructions I was given most carefully before Elrond went to his chamber. Sometimes, I believe he sees me as a child also.

I left Estel to finish his breakfast and came to Elrond's study to read his report of the battle. I had not quite understood how close we came to defeat, for I was too much occupied to see the scene clearly. We must work on our strategy against this foe.

There is a knock at the door.

"Come," I say, taking up the piece of wood for Estel's bow, for I know from the weight of the knock who is outside the room.

The door swings open and Estel steps in. He has been pronounced well but in need of being watched by Elrond. I tried to say that I was unsure what to look for but Elrond was too fatigued to listen. I shall have to rely on Halbarad's judgement. To me, he looks as he did yesterday, though his expression is certainly sad. His first question confirms Elrond's diagnosis.

"Do you have to go so soon?" he asks, in a hoarse voice. I know that his voice will change but I thought that would happen when he is older. I wish I understood edain illness a little more. He is trying to reorganise the fastenings on his jacket, which seem to have become tangled in some way. "You were going to show me the best wood for making bows and I wanted to show you so many things in the gardens and Halbarad leaving too, and as soon as Elladan is better they'll be going too."

"Come, Estel. Come here. Let us not look so far into the future. I can show you the way to pick the right wood this morning, then this afternoon we will make this wood into a bow. There is plenty of time yet." I kneel in front of him then move his hands from his ties and begin to unknot them but he bats me away with a grimace.

"I can do it!"

I hold my hands away and wait while he struggles but all he does is tighten the knots.

"I shall have to cut them if you do not let me help you," I say.

He drops his arms. "All right," he says, biting his lip.

It takes all my dexterity to tease out the leather ties but it is done with no further comment from him.

"Why are you wearing this jacket in the house?" I ask idly. I must learn never to ask Estel idle questions.

"Papa used to get someone to put out my clothes for me but I told him that was babyish so ever since then he's let me choose my own stuff only it's not very interesting so I often think about things when I'm dressing and I don't always know what I've put on."

Thinking he has finished, I stand, but the flow of the explanation continues.

"I want to look like a ranger now, so I am practising wearing this coat which really belongs to Halbarad and I'm going to ask someone to make me a copy of it in my size so that I can wear it all the time."

Rather than interrupt, I steer the boy toward the front door.

"It has these slits up the side, I think they're for when you're riding a horse but they let in the cold air and I think when you're swinging a sword you'd have to be careful so they don't get wound round your sword arm. It would be annoying to have that happen, wouldn't it! Has that ever happened to you?"

"No, Estel, I don't believe it has."

"Legolas? Can I tell you something?"

"Yes," I say, wondering why he needs my permission.

"I don't feel very well."

"Do you wish to stay indoors? It is quite windy outside."

"No. I just thought I had better tell you. Papa always says to tell people if I don't feel well. He says elves don't understand about the ways we become ill."

"Make sure you are wrapped warmly, then. Is Halbarad joining us?"

Estel open his mouth to speak but a cheerful voice answers before the boy can say anything.

"Wait for me!" Halbarad comes down the stairs, walking carefully but not limping badly. "I wouldn't miss this lesson for anything! Why are you wearing my coat, Captain?" he says. It seems Halbarad has taken to using this as Estel's name.

Estel immediately starts to take it off but Halbarad stops him. "I shall be warm enough. Keep it."

Estel nods and looks at me, his eyes wide in anticipation of the adventure to come.

So we all three go outside. First we go to see the tree, which is not being eaten today and has grown a little more. Estel records the details in the book he keeps in the glasshouse.

"I'll see to Spider this afternoon," he says, clearing his throat again. "Can we start the lesson now?"

"Are you well?" I hear Halbarad quietly asking his friend.

"I'm all right. If I don't get this lesson today I won't get it for years!" Estel snuffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve.

That may well be so. I must give this lesson now. I am sure they are both well enough to be out for an hour at least.

We wander into the woodland and I begin to tell them some of the facts they must know.

"You may use wood from any tree," I say, standing by a dark yew. "But some make better bows than others. This tree is older than you can understand, Estel. It is a sacred tree, in its own way, and you must be sure that the wood is used well. We shall not start here, for you will make errors as you practise."

Estel puts his hand against the trunk of the tree and looks up into its canopy.

"How could I cut a piece from such a tree, Legolas?" he says.

Halbarad comes to stand by him. "We have ceremonies for the cutting of live trees," he says. "We take what we need, no more, and we have found ways to cut that do little harm. We coppice some trees, which throw up new trunks each year and so are not killed by our needs."

"Your people are wise," I say. "The tree whose limb you rob thoughtlessly will be your enemy always. The wood will not make a good bow. Now," I say, leading the boys further into the wood. We travel slowly to accommodate Halbarad, who is still limping. Estel is trailing a little behind, looking carefully at all the trees we pass. I know he will have been taught their names. Now I must show him how to find a limb he may cut.

"Do you have two knives with you?" I ask.

"I have one," Estel says. "I keep it in my belt. I sharpen it every day."

"You will need two. We must find a way for you to carry two easily and safely. It would not do for you to fall on one of your own knives. When you begin to carry a sword, perhaps there will be a way for you to carry a small knife within the sheath." I begin to plan how this might be done. "Do you carry a small knife in this way?" I ask Halbarad."

"We carry a small knife in the belt," he says. "And a larger one at our backs."

"Then I shall make a sheath for Estel that will have a new design," I say. "Now, here is a good tree for you to study. See if you can pick out the branch that has the best shape for bow-making."

Estel sneezes and wipes his hand on his sleeve. I manage to refrain from comment. He moves slowly round the tree, testing each limb. "Is it better to have a living branch or a dead one?" he asks, pushing against one limb and making it bend back.

"We could use green wood but it will be heavy to draw. We will use dead wood but it must not be dead too long, or it will be too brittle. See, you have four choices. Tell me about each one."

"This one," says Estel, pausing to sneeze again, "is very thin, no more than the thickness of my little finger. The one next to it is thicker." He reaches up as high as he can then runs his hands down the branch. "But it has lumps and breaks and has not grown straight. This is better," he says as he moves round the tree. "I would ask the tree for this one, I think." He nods, testing the branch again.

"That is a good choice," I approve. "But the last one is better. The one you are holding has a knot in a critical place. All bows break eventually, Estel, even those of Elven make, but that would break sooner rather than later."

Estel sneezes a third time. He sniffs loudly but continues to compare the limb he chose with the one I chose. At last he nods. "Yes, I see. I think I do."

"Your eye will tell you, in time. You will simply know which is the right branch to take."

Halbarad moves closer to Estel. "When I visit again, I'll teach you the ceremony we use. Then if you have words from Legolas and words from me, surely no tree will ever refuse you a limb for a bow."

"Oh – yes!" he says, as he moves on to the next tree. "Let me try and see if I get it right this time."

We spend the next few minutes considering a number of trees. I begin to show him that it is a good idea to bend smaller branches from the tree, to test its resilience, and to see which side of the limb will become the back and which the belly of the bow. Finally, I take the wood I have brought and we settle on the ground in a circle. Both boys have lengths of wood of their own, chosen carefully from trees. I asked the trees properly and they gave willingly to my apprentices.

I show them the long, even cuts to make down the belly of the bow. Strips of wood begin to fall to the ground as we shave off the extra wood to find to shape of the stave. I make sure both boys hold the branches the right way up. The tree's spirit will work with the bow then, not against it.

Estel works hard, holding his knife in the way I have shown him and cutting with great care away from himself. It is a hard task, requiring some strength in the fingers and forearms especially, and his concentration seems a little uncertain. But by midday we all three have staves, the boys' moderately workable, and we have tested the way they bend.

I cut nocks in each stave for them, while they sit and watch intently, eagerly asking questions as the work proceeds. I brought bowstrings with me and before long, the boys are twanging the strings, listening to the fine noise they make then running round the trees, pretending to sight prey and kill it. They are laughing and carefree, and I remember feeling as they did when, a long while gone, my father taught me to make my first bow. It is like no other moment, when you realise you have the power to make an instrument which may kill another creature. For the boys it is still a game. When I teach them about making arrows, I will try to help them to understand that it is not a game. But for the moment, they play.

The wind begins to blow a little stronger. It is time for us to go in. Estel has come to stand by me. He is breathing hard and still smiling. His sneezing fit seems to have passed but he still sounds harsh-voiced.

"How do you feel?" I ask. "Are you still unwell?"

"I don't think so," he says. "I hadn't thought about it. I'm hungry though."

"Then let us go and eat. Unstring the bows if you can."

Halbarad manages his. Estel only needs a little help.

We march back to the house in single file, the boys making enough noise to frighten every possible target for their bows for miles around. Estel leads us, Halbarad follows him and I form the rearguard. It has been a good morning. I wish we could have many such mornings, the two boys and I, for there is much woodcraft they need to learn. But it is enough for one morning.

As we go into the house and are met by the warmth and light of Elrond's home, Estel sneezes three times in quick succession.

A figure stands on the stairs. The master of the house waits for us.

"Tell me, Estel," he says gravely. "What have I said about telling people you are unwell?"

The boy looks up in confusion. "Papa, I did as you said. I told Legolas." He coughs, and the sound concerns me. Why did I not understand what he told me? I have never had a sickness which makes you cough and sneeze, and turns your voice into a shadow of itself.

"You must go to your room. We must keep you warm."

Estel struggles out of his coat. "I don't have to go to bed, do I?" he says, grimacing. "I am so tired of being in bed. It's not my fault. I did tell Legolas."

Elrond moves to stand by his son. He takes him by the hand. "Come. We'll have a game of strategy, you and I. And please, Estel, do not use your sleeve to wipe your nose. How often have I told you that?"

So they go up the stairs, hand in hand, foster-father with foster-son, and Halbarad and I are left to our own devices. I hope I have not harmed Estel by not realising that his illness needed treatment. I do what I can to ensure Halbarad is warm, well-fed and happy before I venture to check on Estel.

I push open the door to the boy's bedroom. The fire burns brightly. The room is warm and bright with a sun that shone only fitfully this morning. Estel is sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring at the board and the pieces Gandalf gave him. The boy looks flushed but plays with concentration. Gradually, however, he begins to droop, settling himself deeper into his chair. He is soon asleep.

"He is not well," Elrond says, a note of irritation in his voice. "Yet you took him outside all morning into the cold."

I do not know what to say. I cared for him, gave him useful knowledge and kept him from danger. The boy seemed well enough to me and did not complain once. How am I to know if he is ill?

"Then you must teach me and must learn," I say, feeling a little downcast at my failure. "And I shall tend him while he is ill."

Elrond looks at me, the trouble in his mind lending his face the stern expression I see there all too often. He seems about to speak but hesitates, some thought working in his mind. Suddenly he sighs.

"I apologise, Legolas. I am blaming you for a fault I find in myself. I ignored him yesterday when he told me he was unwell. I do not think it will be much. He says his throat is sore and you have heard him sneezing. With some rest I am sure he will be well again soon. Come, sit with him while I make him something to soothe him. Then I will see if there is some underlying problem that is undermining his health."

I nod. I understand his care for the boy, who has curled himself up in his chair and sleeps, snuffling, with his mouth open and his hand to his forehead. I shall learn about him, learn all I can. This morning's mistake will not be made again.

(A/N I should like to thank a wonderful gentleman called Longbow, whose page I consulted on the making of bows. He very kindly gave me his permission to use whatever I wanted from his beautiful description of making bows in the wild. Some of what he said was so strikingly like what I imagined Legolas might have said that I was unsure what to do with the information. Perhaps I should have directed everyone to the site and just left you to read it! But I have done my best to weave the information and the clear, direct style of its original writer into the text of this chapter. Thank you, Longbow, aka Alton L.Safford, sincerely.)


	29. Spider Part 8

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from writing about them.

Estel this morning is, how shall I describe him? A heap of miserable boy.

It is the morning of departure, and Halbarad is as sad about the leaving-taking as Estel, who is clinging to my side as he used to when he was four and he had to meet new visitors. His eyes are red and rheumy, his nose is sore and he is having to breathe through his mouth, which is making him irritable.

I hand Halbarad his coat, which has been carefully cleaned, and he mounts his horse.

"I'll be back soon!" he says, trying to cheer Estel. I look down at my boy and see him nod.

"Go to him, Estel," I urge him. "Say goodbye properly."

The boy leaves my side and goes to stand by Halbarad's stirrup.

"We can do some hunting when I come back," Halbarad says. "It'll be warmer."

"Yes," says Estel. "We can go to the meadows and be soldiers fighting orcs."

Legolas is waiting patiently, watching the two boys intently. He has apologised again for not understanding Estel's illness, which in truth is nothing serious, though his cough sounds tight in his chest. I cannot allow the boy to stand outside much longer.

"Say goodbye to Legolas, too," I call. "Then we shall go in and finish the page for the book."

Estel steps over to Legolas. "You will come back again, won't you?" he says. "I want to know about making arrows, like you said."

Legolas leans from the saddle and touches Estel's shoulder with his hand, as if trying to impart trust. "I will return before the year turns," he says. "Sooner, if I can. You look after your tree now."

"I will! I shall look for you when the leaves begin to fall!"

Estel steps back, there is a flurry of movement then we are alone. Early sunlight drops through the trees on this most beautiful of spring mornings, when all trace of rain and wind has gone and the world feels sharply alive. My son returns to me and we walk back to the house hand in hand. He does not speak but his expression says what he cannot.

"You shall begin a new adventure today, Estel," I say, hoping this time to distract him from his sorrow.

"Yes, Papa?" he says, trying to muster some interest.

"Yes. You shall finish your pages for the records as I promised. Then we are going to begin a journal for you, your own place to record what you have done. When Halbarad and Legolas return you will be able to read it to them, or use it to help you recall what you have done."

"May I put pictures in it?" he asks, taking off his coat as we step back into the warm house.

"You may put anything into it that you think will tell your story. You do not have to record each day – just those matters which are important to you. It must not become a task – you must tell me if it does. I hope you will love to write in your book."

"Oh – yes, Papa – I shall!" His face is changing as the idea takes hold. "I can put bits of songs in that I like, and I could put in it what I want to do when I grow up. And all the pages about the tree. And about the bow and about Spider, too. Oh, Papa. My bow. I so wanted to be able to practise with it before Legolas left, but I wasn't well enough to go out."

I am steering him gently towards to my study, where a warm fire and some salves to ease his aches and pains are waiting.

"You will miss Legolas, my son, as much as you will miss Halbarad. Legolas will miss you, too. He has great respect for you. Your first bow was well made. Your brothers can teach you to pull it and look after it."

"Yes. But it will not quite be the same," he says, with all the innate conservatism of the child, who longs for things to remain as they have known them.

"What will not quite be the same?"

Estel, busy with his thoughts had not seen Elladan, who sat waiting for us in my study.

"Elladan!" Estel shouted, running to him. "You are well again!" The boy came to stand in front of his brother. "Are you well?" he said more quietly, when his brother did not hug him, which was the usual outcome of a morning greeting.

"I am much better, little brother," Elladan said. "Now, what's the matter with you? You look all red and you sound horrible, like a troll sniffing for its breakfast."

"Legolas took Halbarad away!" Estel said. "I didn't want either them to go and they both went!"

"They will return," Elladan says reasonably, though I am not sure it is reason that Estel needs. "The time will pass quickly."

"And I have a cold," Estel adds, turning away suddenly as a fit of sneezing grasps him. He has screwed up his eyes and seems prepared to use his sleeve again until I intervene.

"Legolas went with Halbarad to keep him safe. You know he did not take him away."

"I know," Estel says. "But I just didn't want it to happen."

This is all we can get him to say. We give him things to do, and praise his workmanship, feed him good things and treat the symptoms of his cold, but he keeps stubbornly to the idea that somehow Legolas is to blame for his loss. I cannot see the logic in what he says, nor does it seem like him to be so unreasonable. Perhaps it is simply his illness.

By early evening he is tired. I let him go, more than a little concerned that he actually put himself to bed, which is unusual. He is asleep when I go to visit him later. He is a little flushed and still snuffling but I put a few drops of eucalyptus oil on his nightshirt and leave his door open. I will check on him later.

In the early hours, I am sitting in my study when I hear a strange noise. I cannot place it at first, then as I become aware of what it is I close the book I was reading and hasten to the door.

Estel is crying. I know that sound, though I have not heard it at night for a long while, that miserable, half-stifled sound as he pulls his blankets around him and tries not to make a fuss.

Elrohir and I reach his door at the same time. I motion my elder son away and go to investigate. All is dark in the room, and the boy is quiet now, but I can feel his emotion. I light the candle by his bed and sit down on the mattress. I cannot see him – there is a lump in the bedclothes and that is Estel.

"Child," I say, trying to draw back the blankets as gently as I can. "Come, child. I'm here now. Tell me, what is the matter?"

There is a movement in the bed, then he is there, his face mottled with crying, his damp eyelashes sticking to his flesh. He tries to speak but seems to be fighting himself, his face screwed up, his eyes bright.

It is only then that I realise that he is struggling to breathe. Each breath is a heave of his chest, each expiration a sigh. How long has he been in this state?

"Sit up, child!" I say, pulling him against me and making him lean forward a little as he sits. "Is it your throat? Your chest? What is it? Tell me!"

Elrohir has heard the urgency in my voice and comes into the room.

"Throat. Papa, my throat," Estel manages between gasps. "I'm scared!"

I give Elrohir urgent instructions, then hold Estel up until his breathing eases a little. He is exhausted but he holds hard to my arm, each breath hard to draw. If it is his throat, we can get him through this. If it is his chest, he is in grave danger.

I have never known a longer night with Estel. In the end, I feel as if I am taking every breath with him. We have done all we can to ease his throat, to reduce the swelling which is making it so difficult for him to breathe. Time is the only healer now. Once we are past this, I know he will recover quickly. But he is still terrified, holding me and looking to me for my strength, and does not know that at last his symptoms are easing.

Elrohir waits by the fire. He looks drawn and grey in the early morning light. It seems he too is breathing with, or for, Estel, for his breaths match his brother's.

Finally, with a great sigh, Estel falls asleep. He leans into my arms and I hold him gently, stroking his damp hair from his forehead. His breathing eases further as he slips into sleep. When I am sure he is settled, I pull the bedclothes away from him, pick him up and carry him to the fire.

Elrohir changes the bed linen without calling for any help. He hums gently to himself, making all well again. We do not speak, for Estel sleeps quietly, sprawled across me, his legs dangling, body and arms contained within my arms. His breath is easy. It is as if he has not been ill at all. His brow is a little warm, he is heavy in his relaxation but he is not the scared little boy he was a few hours ago.

When he wakes, he grips my robe with one hand then looks up at me. It is broad daylight and I should have put him back in bed before now, but I could not bear to wake him. He sighs again, and his head lolls against my chest.

"How are you feeling, child?" I say.

"I feel all right," he says, his voice a whisper. "You're really comfortable."

I smile at him and he smiles back. He truly does seem much better, if very tired still.

"Do you want to go to back to bed now?"

He shakes his head. "It's morning, Papa. I have to go and see to my tree and make sure Spider is all right. I won't run about or anything. I'll come straight back when I've finished."

I know my surprise shows in my expression. Estel looks at me, with a clear, steady gaze. His grey-blue eyes shine. "I'm all right now. Really I am. Look."

He slips from my lap and stands in front of me. He grins suddenly.

"You need more sleep, Estel. You have been very ill. You must regain your strength."

His face falls. "No, I am all right. I promise I am. Papa, just let me go and see my tree. Please."

I buy myself a few precious minutes' time for thought. "Go and wash, then. Come back here and I will see. Perhaps if Elrohir goes with you. It is a fine morning, and much warmer. Then if you come back here and rest, perhaps I can allow it."

He runs for his water closet, with a quick, "Thank you, Papa!"

"Do you think this is wise?" Elrohir asks. "Not four hours ago he was more ill than I have ever seen him."

"No – he has been more ill than that, when you were away once. His throat was swollen – now it is not. It was a passing illness. I will not stop him from going out this time. The fresh air will do him good. But he will come back here, he will not go anywhere near his pony, and he will stay in bed the rest of the day. Go with him, Elrohir. If he shows the slightest sign of illness, bring him straight back here."

And that is the compromise we reach. By the time he had dressed, Estel had realised that his strength, gathered in his short sleep, was little enough, but he gamely went out for a while, saw that all was well with his tree and then, as Elrohir reported it to me, said he wanted to go back and record his findings. When he did come in, he threw himself on the bed and went straight to sleep.

"Do you now think my actions wise?" I ask. "Estel is where he should be, but he made his own choice. If I had tried to insist, he would have been as fractious as he was last time. Now, I can let him rest and all will be well again in a few days."

Elrohir still seems unsure. "I hope that is so, Father." He goes to look at Estel, then starts to pull off his brother's coat, easing it off his shoulders without waking the boy.

I hope so too. It has been an odd time, and I feel as though I am standing on ground that shifts under my feet. I do not like this feeling that he is well one moment then, when I turn my back, he can barely breathe. Then again, the next morning, he says he is well, only to return to his room and fall asleep. It is a most trying time.

While Elrohir settles his brother, leaving him clothed but covering him with a blanket, I go to see what Estel was drawing yesterday. He was reluctant to show it to me, but now, as I sit at his desk, I pull the papers to me.

One is an image of a woman. She wears a long dress, which he has carefully coloured green. Her hair is long, undressed and blows back from her face. He has not finished the drawing. There is no background. I wonder if he is drawing his mother but she seems too young. He talked of drawing his future. Does he see this woman as part of his future?

The second is little more than a sketch. It is a dark scene, perhaps a cave, though the darkness is suggested by only a few lines scored into the paper. It could be a room but there are no windows. It could be many things. There is a chair in the room, or the cave, or wherever it might be. Its high back is turned so that, if anyone sits in the chair, they cannot be seen. That is all there is. But there is anger in the lines on the page, and fear in the dark spaces. I turn the picture face down, for it somehow calls to some memory in me, something I have wished to forget for a long time.

The third is a piece of paper, on which Estel has been doodling, apparently trying out different styles of writing, ready for the page he will write when he is fully recovered. The same words, over and over, across the page, sideways, crossing and re-crossing.

"Estel," it says. "Estel! Jump, Estel!"

Over and over and over. I look at the boy on the bed. He is sound asleep again. Elrohir has propped him up a little, to continue to ease his breathing but he seems well enough, considering the night he has had. What was in his mind when he wrote this? Is it important, or a simple idea a nine-year-old might scrawl across a page?

My feeling of unease intensifies. In the morning sun, shining fully into the room and onto the bed, I can sense something, a shadow, I know not what.

I take the picture and the writing and throw them on the fire.


	30. Spider Part 9

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(My apologies for the fitful nature of posting at the moment. It's due to work commitments. I shall be continuing to write this and hope to resume once weekly posting in the near future).

Estel wakes again in the late afternoon, groggy and disorientated from sleep. He is not very communicative but his expression speaks of drowsy irritation.

"Do you want something to eat?" I ask, rising from the chair where I have been sitting, reading. I have felt the need to watch over him today.

"Yes, Papa." His voice is still hoarse and he coughs to clear his throat. "Can I get up?"

"If you wish."

He settles in the window seat, still dressed in his morning clothes, and rests his chin on his hand as he looks out onto the gardens. He seems far away still, thinking, dreaming – which is it?

"Estel?" I ask, stepping up behind him.

He does not turn. "Yes?"

I do not know how to frame my question. I am not even sure I know what it is I want to ask him. "Did you wish to go with Halbarad and Legolas?" Is that truly what I wanted to know? The question does at least provoke a response.

Estel swivels round and looks at me, his eyes dark. "I don't think so," he says. "I never thought about it. I didn't mean what I said." He looks down at his hands. "About Legolas taking him away."

"I know, child. They will both return. We will pass the time quickly, you and I. There is so much for us to do!"

"Yes, Papa." He looks a little more hopeful, but his eyes are still sad. "My stomach's rumbling," he adds unnecessarily, and with a slight grin at last.

"Then we must endeavour to answer its summons!" I say. "How would you like to hear a story when I get back?"

"Can I choose it?" he says, turning to stare out of the window again.

"Of course. Which one would you like?"

"Something sad," he says. "Something with a lady in it. Something – something which doesn't have a completely happy ending."

I am surprised by his choice but I know what he is asking for. He has heard the tale before, Luthien, yes, he is asking for the tale of Luthien. I shall bring the special book I have not shown him before, the ancient copy I have treasured through the years. He will love the illustrations and he is old enough now to respect its age and fragility.

I touch him on the shoulder. "I shall find Elrohir and Elladan. We shall have a family supper here – would you like that?"

Estel nods, his gaze still on the fading light in the garden. I leave him to look and hope that the melancholy which hangs about him can be dispersed. Perhaps Luthien's tale is too sad. Perhaps I will choose another.

It takes a little longer than I had anticipated for me to order his meal. I take great care to choose something he likes and can easily digest. To prepare the soup correctly will take a little time, so I go to my study to choose a story for tonight. Elrohir joins me and we talk as I search, discussing the most suitable story, finding the shortest version of it, planning to take the different roles. My heart lifts as I imagine Estel between us, following the story in the book, admiring the pictures – it will be an evening for us all to treasure.

I remember five years ago, a four year old sitting between myself and Gandalf as we told him about the peoples of the world. He did not believe Gandalf when the wizard told him of halflings. He stood up and was measured, so that he could imagine their height. He was tall for his age even then and was fascinated by the halflings, demanding to know all he could about them – the size of their animals, their homes, their lives, until Gandalf was laughing with him over the number of questions his fertile, inquisitive, four-year-old mind could conjure.

He was a marvel, then. He was sweet and funny and happy, running everywhere, trying everything. I sometimes wonder how he survived that year. But there was little of the graveness about him that he has developed in the last three months. Looking back, contrasting the happy boy with the nine year old Estel waiting for me upstairs, I see the change. It is not a change for the better; it is not a change I want for him, nor feel he must undergo.

We must work harder to ensure he is well-governed but less burdened by – yet I cannot say what is his burden.

"He has grown sad, Elrohir," I say, settling the book under my arm and preparing to return to the kitchen.

"He is a little quieter than he was," Elrohir agrees, following me down the corridor, where candles now light the gloom. "But he has had much to unsettle him. I do not believe he has reconciled himself to Ruby's death even yet, and he has lost the company of two close friends. He will recover his spirits soon. Do you remember when we made him that swing in the tree?"

"We repaired Arwen's swing, as I remember. The boy loved it – I remember the afternoon he yelled at Elladan to push him higher and higher, until my heart was in my mouth. But he held tight and shouted his joy and I knew he would be safe."

"I felt much the same when he started to climb the trees. I wanted him to be safe – I wanted to climb the tree with him and test each branch before he stepped on it. But the more I told him to be careful, the higher he climbed. He never fell, not once. He came close. Once, I caught him as he slipped, but he was not far from the ground. He would not have hurt himself."

We move together into the glow and warmth of the kitchen. The meal is ready but I still check everything, anxious to make this evening as pleasant as I can. It is all to my liking. As I pick up one tray, I recall the first danger Estel encountered. When he was very small he escaped everyone's notice. We found him in the kitchen, running round and round by the fire and singing to himself. I moved to catch him but I startled him by mistake and he stepped back, falling against a hot piece of metal. He marked his backside, not badly burnt, but he howled as if he was. We all comforted him as best we could but he would not be stilled. We passed him between us like a parcel, one to another. He would settle for a while with one then begin to mourn his hurt again.

I see him still, running and running, singing, in a world of his own making until the adults stepped in and caused him harm. It was not intentional but it was too easily done.

Elladan came into the kitchen at that moment.

"Trays, father? Are we eating somewhere special tonight?"

"Estel's bedroom. I wish to make it an enchanted place for him, as we used to do so often. He needs comfort, my son, for his losses and his hurts, and he needs to be set once again on a happier path."

"That is a good idea. We shall be a family again tonight."

Elrohir and I carry the trays and Elladan comes behind with a fresh supply of sweetly-fragranced candles.

"Do you remember when we tried the spiced candles and it set Estel sneezing?" Elladan says. "He couldn't stop even when we'd taken him outside to get some fresh air."

"He couldn't stop giggling either. I don't know why he found it funny."

As we go upstairs, we recall other moments, other happy moments.

Estel isn't in his room when we enter, but the door to his water closet is closed, so we set up the candles, put the food on the table and Elrohir began to start a new fire.

"What is this?" he asks, pulling a half-burned paper from the hearth. "And here – on the floor – there's another piece."

I glance down. I remember the picture and the writing I had thrown on the fire on an impulse. "Just some paper Estel used for a rough drawing."

"You burned it? Why did you do that, father? We have treasured all his drawings and writings since he came to live with us."

"There was something wrong with them – I do not know what. I felt – disturbed by them. We must be more careful to keep all evil away from him."

Both my elder sons look at me. My words sound foolish as I spoke them, though they accurately reflect my thoughts. But I say nothing more. I notice Elrohir put the half-burned papers on one side before he lights the fire.

After a few minutes' wait, I go to knock on Estel's water closet door.

"Estel? Are you well? Do you need any assistance?"

There was no reply. I push on the door and it swings open. The room is empty.

We search for him, we search with frantic haste, for it is rapidly darkening and has turned colder. Elladan finally finds his note, tacked onto the wall of the stable. The boy has taken Spider and is gone.

As we prepare to go after him, I read the note again by the light of a torch which streams in the wind.

"You burned my picture. You wanted me to go with Halbarad and I didn't know you did. I am going to find him and stay with him forever. Look after my tree, please, Papa. I love you. Estel."

Such a mixture of passions. Such a heart, tested tonight and found insecure in my love. I can hardly see to read, yet I read it over again, trying to tease out every meaning. Does he know which way to go? Why did he have to leave tonight, when he must make camp almost immediately? Does he know everything he must to keep safe?

"Father – we are ready. We will find him shortly. That little pony cannot match us for speed. Had it been Ruby, we would not find him till dawn." Elladan should be resting, not chasing through the night after a runaway boy.

"Then let us find him. And if I have done an evil thing in trying to protect him, then I will make all well again."

And I think for a moment of the room we have left, with soup cold in the bowls, candles and fire burning in a room that was changed from the place of refuge I had been trying to create. The picture book lies on the floor but no child is there to hear the story.

As we ride off into the dark, I see my boy, saddling his pony, striking off into the dark, alone, still unwell, thinking himself unwanted, unloved. I urge my horse forward and my sons follow me.

We shall find him. We must. Then we will set this evil right, once and for all.


	31. Spider Part 10

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I make no money from writing about them.

(Thanks again for the kind feedback – it's appreciated, it really is. I hope that posting this section a little early makes up in part for the lack of chapters recently. Cat.)

Elrohir takes up the story.

"Father! Father!" I shout to him but he seems not to hear me, riding ahead and searching into the dark as if he can see Estel's track in the air. But I will make him listen. Anger drives me, anger with Estel for his foolishness, with myself for not knowing he would run, with my father for burning the picture.

There is only one way to stop him. I pull my horse across his, both animals shying away until we can barely manage them. The darkness narrows the world to this place, where I must be the one to call Elrond back to his senses. The horses complain, snorting and dancing the ground into muddy holes.

"Father! How do you know we are going the right way?" I ask, as Elladan reins in by me and reaches out to take my arm.

"Elrohir! What are you doing?" he asks, shouting over the disturbance I have caused.

My father says nothing, but his face is dark with anger, shadowy in the torchlight. He holds the last torch, its flame guttering and threatening to die.

"You cannot know where he has gone!" I say, trying to muster my argument. "We must wait until dawn and then search properly for his tracks!"

Elrond gathers the reins as if to urge his horse forward despite me, but I hold my place, barring him. My heart is pounding. I must somehow stop my own father in his chosen course, something I have never attempted to do before.

"Father – Father! What we are doing is senseless – this is not like you." The words are failing me. I have never questioned, never crossed my father. I do not know what to say.

Perhaps it is my face, perhaps it is something in the tone of my voice rather than the words, but he seems at last to be listening to me. Now he is ready for my strongest argument.

"Why are we going this way?" I ask him, as preparation.

"This is the way Legolas and Halbarad came. Estel is seeking them. He – he will…" He falters. He knows where the flaw in his thinking lies, that great hole in the logic of his conclusion which had escaped him in the rush to find our younger brother.

He calms his horse, patting its neck and leaning forward. He had hope. In stopping him, I have taken away some of that hope.

"He will not know which way they have gone," he says, quiet now. "He will follow his heart blindly, and I do not understand where his heart will lead him. I did not understand his heart when I destroyed his picture and now I cannot know where he has gone."

"Father! No!" Elladan says, jumping down from his horse and going to stand by his stirrup. He looks up at him, pleading his case. "We must go on!"

"Which way, Elladan?" Father says, looking down the trail. The pathway disappears into thick-growing trees here, the land beginning to rise more steeply. Soon we will be beyond the tree line and into the high hills, the rough, rocky land where the paths are narrow and treacherous. I begin to hope he did not come this way.

Estel is only nine. It is a thought which echoes through my mind. He is only nine.

"We must wait," I say. "We may be moving further from him. The moment it is light, we search here for tracks then …" but in truth, I do not know what we will do next.

Elrond nods. It is the only solution. Estel will have to spend a dark night on his own.

We sit round the fire, silent, until Father begins to speak. He talks of many matters – but he returns again and again to our childhood. The minutes flood past as we three dream of a time long ago, a time when we behaved as Estel is behaving, until we know a little more of what he is thinking.

In the middle of a story of tree-climbing, Father stands and calls to the dawn, the very first greying of the sky. He calls to it, urging it to give us enough light to see, summoning the sun to warm Estel and to let us see the path the boy took. Then he stills as we stand beside him. He is searching, his mind intent on finding his son.

"Did he come this way, Father?" I ask, when the time stretches out and the sky lightens enough for us to see any tracks he might have left.

Father breaks from his concentrated gaze. He is tired, burdened, and his expression is ambiguous.

"I believe – I think he did. I think I followed my instinct last night and that instinct led me nearly aright. We shall search, a widening circle, and see if can cut Spider's tracks."

We do, splitting up and looking for trace of Spider but find nothing in the immediate area. Still, my father feels confident enough for us to continue on the way we had chosen. The day dawns clear and bright. There is warmth in the sunshine, and though we find nothing in the next hour, still we are led by my father's hope, restored now. My own misgivings I now keep to myself.

As the sun rises, we encounter a band of men in a clearing. Rough, unruly men, in clothes that stink, carrying fresh kills of deer and bear. They try to avoid us, taking a different path into the thinning woodland but my father is intent on speaking to them. They stand side by side, wanting to appear greater in number and in courage but my father greets them kindly enough, with no show of strength to unsettle them.

"We are searching for one of my household," he says carefully. "A young man, who should have returned last night. Have you seen anyone out this way? Someone on a grey pony?"

One man steps forward. "We do not interfere in others' business," he says. "Not the business of people of your sort. We keep to ourselves." He turns as if to lead the others away but Elrond walks over to him, placing his hand on the man's shoulder.

"A wise policy," he says. "But surely you can tell us if you saw someone. We do not hold you responsible for him."

Into my head comes an image of Estel meeting these men. Would they have left him alone? Would they have frightened him, or chased him away? I glance at their pack horses, wondering for a moment if Spider would be there among them; but he is not, and the image flees.

Elrond is bending his will to this matter of extracting the truth from this man. I can see it in the tension in their bodies, in the man's expression – guarded, then surprised. He lifts his arm and points the way they have come.

"Back there, my lord," he says, the title coming reluctantly from his lips. "Two miles, less maybe, by the waterfall."

Elrond nods, letting the man go his way. They walk swiftly, glancing back at us and muttering among themselves.

Elladan has been scouting ahead. He stands suddenly in the saddle and shouts, pointing to the ground.

"Here! He came out of the woods here!"

We both mount and join him, trotting forward as fast as we can along the uneven, broken way. The path is straight and true, upwards now, steeper and steeper, and my father looks back at us, worried.

"Surely he cannot have come this way in the dark!"

Yet the small hoof prints continue upwards and we follow, the sound of a waterfall now thick in our ears. The rocks are jagged on one side of the path but smoother on the other, and I recognise the marking of water over stone. This is a waterfall which overflows its bounds from time to time.

My father is riding first. Suddenly he calls us to halt and jumps from his horse's back, then runs forward, casting his long coat aside as he does. Until I come up with his horse I cannot see what he sees. I can only see that the hoof prints continue on up the path but my father has struck off to the side, toward the falls. When I do see what has caught my father's attention, I glance at Elladan, who has grasped the situation even more quickly than I and is already dismounting. We tie up the horses and then follow Father through the thick undergrowth to the water's edge.

We are a hundred feet up. The waterfall drops in a series of steps and pools, wider in places, the water lacy, thin as it drops to the next rock bowl, then narrower, the water coming together in a heavy spill of white droplets, which thunder down into a further pool. Above us, another hundred feet of waterfall. 

And there, in the middle of the fall, Estel, hunched, miserable, his feet on a stone which must rock when he moves, his hands bracing him as he leans into the waterfall. He shifts as we look, Father calling to him, urging him not to move and we see him nod, and then shake the water from his face.

How long has he stood like this? How did he get out so far – and why did he come this way?

"Rope!" I say to my brother, who nods and runs back to the horse.

Yet Father, hearing me, shakes his head. "Do not distract him! He will slip! We must find another way!"

I can see no other way. He stands at the edge of the fall, a drop of twenty feet between him and the shallow pool into which the water flows, cold and relentless. We must get to him, use the rope to secure him and bring him back.

Behind me, I hear something crashing through the undergrowth. An animal, intent on its own purpose, breaks through and stands, shivering, near my brother. It is Spider, wild-eyed, dirty and scratched, eager to stand with our horses now. Elladan catches him and tethers him to a tree.

My father has been inching his way out across the way Estel must have taken but the water has risen a little even in the time we have been here, as it must have been rising all night. Any false move will be enough to disturb Estel's fragile hold. Already he is shuffling sideways towards his father, and I can see in his face the distress, the terror he feels.

Father steps back, calling as soothingly as he can to his youngest son.

"Stay where you are, child! I have a better plan. Can you wait a few more moments?"

There is a pause. I can feel for Estel, for the decision he has to make. The call to run to his father, whatever the danger, must be strong in him. But he nods, and resettles himself, steadying his balance once more, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. He is brave, that one, foolish, disobedient, unthinking, but brave. He is my brother and I yearn to run to him, to snatch him out of the situation he has put himself into.

Father is back at the edge of the water with us now. He is soaked, and pushes his hair out of his face. He takes a moment to tell us his plan.

We both argue against him but his decision is made and he quietens us.

"I cannot spend time arguing this, Elladan – Elrohir. You must help me. Make a fire here, get blankets, get a hot drink ready for him. Elladan – do it!

My brother does not argue and goes immediately to do as he is told.

"Elrohir – come – you must stand beside me, help me if my strength fails. It is the only way."

"Yes, Father," I say, hastening to catch up with him. He is climbing down the slope now, keeping his feet despite slippery rocks, holding on to branches as he descends. As I follow, I weigh up the chances of success but keep my judgement to myself. Father will not let his son down and if he thinks this is the only way, that is because it is.

We wade out together into the icy waters of the pool. It is deeper than that in the step above because it is one pool, not several. It reaches my tall father's knees. It is not deep enough to cushion a fall from Estel's place of refuge.

We stand underneath him, and Father calls to him, gently, with confidence. Estel glances round, searching us out, then sees what we have planned. His eyes widen and he shakes his head, looking away from us but Father calls him again.

"Come, Estel – it is but a little way. Trust me now, Estel – look at me. I am sorry about your picture – I want to tell you how sorry I am. It was wrong of me, very wrong. Now come, Estel. Just stand up. There, that's it."

And, miraculously, there my brother stands, his arms outstretched for balance, his gaze locked onto his father's face. The water pounds down around us but all I can see, all I can hear, is this moment between my father and my brother. His arms outstretched, my father shouts with authority and hope in his voice.

"Jump, Estel!" he calls. "Jump!"


	32. Spider Part 11

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Thanks again for the sweet and funny comments – this little boy is leading me on a fair old adventure, and I bless him for it! Thanks for taking the time and trouble to make them all such fun to read. I love reading those from people who have been kind enough to keep up with this epic, and whose support I have needed very much – but welcome also to new posters – thanks for being brave enough to tell me what you think!

As a special favour, if you know of any resources I could consult about Ranger names, I'd be most grateful to read them. I know of some resources but I do want to do my research if it's possible. Thanks in advance if you can help out!)

If I could have stopped Father, I would have done. But all I can do is stand close by and hope.

Estel stares down for a long moment. I had judged it a jump of twenty feet. I do not now know if that was a true judgement. It does not matter. Father's last encouragement works and Estel jumps, from an unsteady rock, out into the air. He falls, arms and legs drawn in, his attention fixed on Father, and then he is in Father's arms, and they are both falling, and I reach forward to steady them if I possibly can.

They land in the water, Father underneath Estel, and I catch and try to hold my brother as he spills from Father's arms and rolls into the water. I struggle to keep my feet but I am off-balance now and have to brace myself on the slippery rocks at the bottom of the pool.

As soon as I can stand, I reach out for Estel, who lies face-down in the water. He should not be moved, says a voice in my head, yet he will drown if I do not drag him clear of the water, so I turn him as gently as I can. He comes to himself suddenly, spluttering and coughing and crying, and tries to stand.

"Estel! Stay quiet! You will slip!" I shout and he looks at me. Then he sees Father, lying on his side, unmoving.

"Papa!" he said, as soon as he saw him. "Papa!" And he crawls through the water to him. "Wake up!" He is shaking Father by the shoulder then he glances at me, terror on his face.

I go to my brother and pull him back into my arms. He is ice cold.

To my huge relief, Father begins to stir, then haul himself up. As soon as he is steady on his feet he reaches out for Estel, who flings himself into his arms. I see Father flinch, but he allows Estel to cling to him and tries to soothe the boy.

"I am well, child. Go – go to your brother. Get to the bank." Father pushes Estel away and I reach for my brother's hand. He grasps mine and we struggle to the water's edge. I help him to climb back the way we came and am heartened that there seems to be nothing wrong with his movement as he uses hands and legs to steady himself over the steep, mossy rocks.

Father follows, less sure-footed, and I know he is hurt somehow, but I must not alarm my brother. I allow myself one glance but Father shakes his head and I say nothing to him.

Elladan is ready and wraps Estel in a cloak as soon as the boy approaches the fire.

"Do you hurt, Estel?" he says quietly, helping the boy out of his boots.

Estel shakes his head but it is possible his body is too numb with cold for him to know. Elladan understands this and starts to check him over, while the boy stands passive and quiet. I wish he were talking, as he usually talks. This quiet is not natural.

Elladan settles the boy with a warm drink and the cloak tight around him before he comes to speak to me.

"He is well enough, bruised down his side somewhat, a cut to his foot, but he is remarkably well. He cannot have been long in the water. Father – how are you?"

"Old," my father says ruefully, rubbing at his right forearm. "Sore. But I am not injured."

Estel looks up as Father comes to sit next to him.

"Papa – did I hurt you? I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to do any of it!" The boy's words return to him all at once but Father takes his hand and calms him.

"There is nothing wrong, child. Come, sit closer to the fire now. Drink – we must warm you inside. You look like a skinned rabbit. We need to put more meat on those bones!"

Father's little joke breaks something in the boy and he crawls into Father's arms, disappearing almost as he is encircled and covered in a blanket Elladan has brought. But his bright eyes are watching us and he is restless, forcing Father to hold him more tightly as he moves.

"Child – sit still. Now, what happened?"

Estel bites his lip. Elladan makes up the fire and goes to check on the horses but I cannot leave my father and Estel to talk. I do not know why but I must know Estel's reasoning. There is something in me that is angry with my brother, and I need to find forgiveness in myself for causing us such worry. I go to unpack some food and begin to prepare it while they talk but Father is having difficulty unlocking what Estel is trying to tell him.

"I got stuck," Estel was saying. "I couldn't go back and I couldn't go forward and the rock I stood on was wobbly. I was there ages, Papa. I couldn't think what to do."

"I understand that, Estel. I think we were lucky to find you when we did. But I do not understand what happened before. Why were you out in the waterfall?"

"The men, Papa! The bad men! I was trying to get away from them and I had to go this way because they were afraid of the water or something, anyway, they just left me there. They tried to catch Spider but he wouldn't let them."

"They chased you out into the waterfall and you couldn't get back?" I can't resist the comment but Father isn't pleased when Estel begins to sob.

"I didn't want to do it! There were too many of them and they were too big! And I forgot my bow."

I kneel in front of him and take his hand, immediately contrite. "No – Estel – I mean, they knew you were out in the waterfall and they left you there?"

Estel gulps back his sobs. "Oh. I think they knew I was there. I think so. One of them looked in my direction for a minute and then he laughed about something, so I don't know if he saw me."

Father turns the questions away from the terrible minutes he must have endured before we arrived.

"Did you bring a change of clothes with you?" he asks. "Your clothes won't be dry for hours and we don't want you scaring any passing maidens, now do we?"

Estel nods. "I brought a clean shirt and stuff, and some food. I'm only silly sometimes, Papa," he says, his emotions barely in check.

His Papa smiles gently at him. "I know, Estel. Elrohir – could you fetch his clothes? We need to be getting home as soon as your brother's had something to eat."

I go to fetch the bag I saw tied to Spider's saddle, thinking that all will be well now, but as I return, Estel is arguing with Father, quite forcefully.

"I don't want to go home, Papa! I don't know why. Can't we all go and live with Halbarad?"

It is such an extraordinary statement that I wait with bated breath for my father's reply.

"No, Estel. We cannot go and live with Halbarad."

I study Estel's face. He surely cannot believe Father would say yes. There is something troubling this boy very much, and we will have to find out what it is as soon as we can.

"What is wrong with home, Estel?" my father asks. "Come, child, you can tell me."

"I don't know," Estel says mournfully. "Everything seems to go wrong there."

I hand Estel his clothes and he begins to get dressed, standing up to pull on his leggings then sitting cross-legged opposite Father.

"I've been thinking and thinking," he says. "Sometimes I think I nearly have the answer but then it's gone again. But I don't like these things I see in my head and I am not sure that's home's fault, really, it's just, well, it's just that I see things when I am in my room and not when I'm out here. Not too much, anyway."

Elladan returns and sits down beside Estel. I complete our group, keeping quiet but wishing Estel had the words to tell us what is wrong.

"Papa. Did you ever – did you ever get to make a really really big decision, I mean a really big one. And then wish you didn't have to make it?"

"Many times, Estel. Many times."

"I feel as though every day now, I have to make a big decision. I have to decide who I am or what I want or who to be friends with. Or what to draw or write. Well, that's all right, except I've been drawing some strange things and I don't know why I have been doing it."

"Then we must help you," Father says. "But you cannot run away again."

There it is. The words I have been waiting for Father to say.

Estel says nothing. He pulls his arms tight around himself and looks unhappy. Father has taken the decision for him and he doesn't like that either.

"You must understand, Estel, this is not something you can decide for yourself. It is not something you will promise. It is something you will do. I think we will need to talk about this later but now, you will say that you understand me, you will eat the food Elladan has prepared for you then we will go back to Imladris. Do you understand, Estel?"

We wait only a moment for Estel to nod but Father is not satisfied.

"You will tell me this one thing, Estel. You will say it in front of your brothers and you will think about what it is you have said."

He frowns, his grey eyes narrowing. Then he stands, taking us all by surprise.

"Papa. I was wrong to run away, both times I was wrong. I am not going to do it again." He nodded to himself. "I need to talk to you but I'm hungry now."

Father smiles. "We will talk as much as you need to talk. Now, let me see you do justice to your brother's cooking."

Elladan looks up suddenly, and watches a flock of birds skimming between the trees. He looks at Father, but he is occupied in wringing out his clothes so he walks away, and I follow. We attend to the horses together and listen to the birds singing in our sunlit glade, with the wash of the waterfall a constant background noise. I look back, and Estel has finished his food and is now helping Father brush the mud off the back of his coat. They are talking easily to one another, although I suspect the subject of running away has not come up again.

But my brother and I, we are still listening to the birds, and to a sudden alarm call from further down the hill.

"What – or who?" says Elladan quietly.

"The men. Perhaps they have found friends and with them, courage?"

"You have your bow. I have a sword. Father has his bow. But we have Estel with us. Father could take him home. We could lead them away, or go to meet them."

"I do not like to split our forces, brother. We could hide Estel and fight."

"Perhaps they do not intend to fight. Perhaps they are simply returning the way they came."

I shrug. Father has noticed our debate and comes to join us, trailed by Estel, who has found an interesting stick and is stabbing at the air with it.

"I thought perhaps Estel might like to go to the top of the hill, since we have come this far. There is a fine view from there," I say, hoping Father will pick up my hint.

Estel stops playing with his stick and looks at me. "Why would I want to do that, Elrohir? I've already been to the top once."

The birds are falling silent. It is time we made a decision. Yet Father is following Estel's statement through to its logical conclusion.

"You have been to the top? Then – then you were coming back down when you came across these men?"

"Yes, Papa. I said, I was silly to run away and I was coming home. Didn't I say that? I wanted to talk to you properly about you and Elladan and Elrohir coming to live with me and Halbarad. I couldn't think of anything else to do."

My father, my venerable, wise, stern father is weeping. He holds his hands out to a puzzled Estel, who goes to him slowly.

"What have I done wrong now, Papa?" he asks, distress in his voice. "Don't cry, Papa!"

But time for Father to speak has gone. The woods are full of the tramping of heavy feet, and the first of the men we spoke to early this morning stands a hundred yards away down the track.

"Well, Master Elrond," he calls, stepping closer. "Those are fine horses you have. Perhaps you would like to pay them as tribute to us, for passing along our road?"

I watch as my father assesses the odds. The band is not so big as it might be, twelve now instead of five, and they are spread wide. They have short bows and swords, and they have knives but we have the high ground.

"Are you ready to fight?" Father asks. We nod, and Estel does too. "Estel, you must ride Spider up the hill, away from this place," Father says, though I think the chance of Estel obeying this order is small.

It is, in any case, too late. Two men stand behind us on the path. We must fight, we must all fight, and Estel's escapade may prove the last chance he ever has to run away.


	33. Spider Part 12

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(I don't think you'll have any trouble guessing who tells this!)

Papa says he is going to talk to the bad men. I don't want him to do that because I don't know if it is safe. I don't want him to fight them but I don't understand why he wants to try to stop them by talking to them.

I'm holding Spider's halter. He is pulling at me hard and I think he wants to get away. Elladan is standing right by and he has his bow in his hand but he is sort of standing behind his horse. I don't think the men can see that's what he's doing. He won't let me say anything.

I wish I could go and stand right next to Papa now. He is talking to the men and I don't know what he's saying. He is talking to the man who laughed at me. I think it's him. He had a blue shirt and he had a short sword in his belt.

"What is Papa saying?" I ask Elrohir. My brother is standing on the other side of me and he is pulling the strap on the saddle so it's tight.

"Hush," Elrohir says but I don't want to hush. I want to know what is happening.

"But you have to tell me! I need to learn," I say.

"Estel!" Elrohir says in that voice he has when he's cross with me. I don't care. I have to know.

I think I catch them a bit by surprise when I go to be by Papa. My brothers don't catch up with me for ages. I look around and there are a lot of men, all wearing different colours but they're all a bit muddy and I can smell them from here. I nearly reach Papa but Elrohir grabs me and he lifts me right up and goes to walk back up the hill with me, but I say I don't want to go. I think one of those men laughed at me.

I don't know whether I've done the wrong thing but Papa is saying something to me. Then, like before, I get lost a bit. I hate this feeling. I was trying to tell Papa about it all last week and I can't seem to say it right.

There's something wrong inside me. It feels like a black space. I hate it but I can't stop it. I know I stop talking and I can feel Elrohir holding on to me tight but he doesn't say anything either.

Then I am somewhere else. I am somewhere white and there are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of people there making a big noise. I am wearing something very heavy and old. It is too noisy for me. I want to go somewhere quiet and I want to be away from me. I don't want this to happen.

I am on the ground. I think I am on my back and the blue sky is above me. Someone is calling to me or shouting at me or something. I don't think it's Papa or my brothers. I don't know the voice one bit but it makes the dark place in me go away. Like when I do the drawings and the writing, and the thing I'm scared of goes away.

I don't think Papa understands me. There are noises all around me but all I can think suddenly is that he burned my picture, and I wanted to keep that picture because the lady in it is very beautiful and she spoke to me and I had to draw her and then I wrote something on that other bit of paper that Papa burned. I don't remember, no, wait, I do remember. I put the words Papa shouted at me when I was standing and trying to think if I could jump all that way down to him. And I remembered our tree climbing lessons and lessons in how to fall without being hurt too much.

I come back from the place where I was, and the noises in my head are real noises again. Elrohir is next to me and I thought he was lying next to me but he is kneeling now, and he has his sword in his hand.

"Stay still, brother," he says. "You must do as you're told this time!"

I thought about that and then I see an arrow and it is sticking into the ground right by my hand, and there is another one just a bit further away. Some little birds are flying round right over my head so I watch them and try to think about being still.

I can hear Papa shouting soon and he is telling Elladan to shoot his arrows back, and I have to watch this so I sort of sit up a little bit and I see a man coming close but he looks at me and then he looks surprised and then he looks nothing at all and I know that whatever was in him has gone. It is a strange thing to see. I still feel funny after that minute I had seeing other things and when an arrow digs into the ground really close to me I feel I have to get up and run somewhere else. But I can't. Elrohir is fighting this man right by him, and I see how the practice they do, the hours and hours my brothers spend practice fighting work out now, right there and it hurts him, this man, and he falls down and his coat is getting wet and there is red blood on it. He lies there like me, but I don't know if he is all right or if he is dead.

"Estel! Get on Spider and go! Now!" Papa says that but I can't move. I am worrying that if I move I will somehow make my brothers get hurt. I don't know why. Papa is close and his sword is moving, too, bright in the sun it is. Shining. It has red on it.

"I call truce!" Papa shouts. "Four of your men lie dead and we are untouched. Do you want to die over three horses, a pony and a boy?"

I know he means me but I don't understand what he is talking about at all. It is very quiet all of a sudden. I can hear Papa breathing hard and Elladan is holding his bow with an arrow ready and Elrohir is holding up his sword and they are both standing right in front of me so I can barely see what is going on though I do try to look round them. I stand up too but my head is hurting a bit from before. I go and stand right behind Elrohir and I feel safer there, with his sword to keep the bad men away. He is looking behind me as well and then he is shouting again and he turns round very quickly because there is a man standing a little way away. He must have crept up through the bushes by the waterfall and now he has an arrow in his bow too.

"We want the boy," he says. "He's your boy, isn't he? We want him. Wouldn't have left him if we'd known. No more fighting needed, Master Elrond. No more cutting with swords. You give us the boy and then if you want him back you'll bring some of that fortune to us, like they say you have in your house."

I run at the man with the bow. I have my knife in front of me and I can hear my brothers shouting at me but I won't let this man speak to Papa like that. The man's hands jerk and an arrow comes right at me but I duck out of the way somehow and then I think I take the man by surprise enough and he falls right over with me on top of him. I hit him once and then I am being pulled back and Elrohir is there and I cover my eyes after his sword swings. I have seen enough blood. It makes me feel a bit sickly.

There's some more talking. Papa is standing in the middle of the glade now and the men who were fighting him slink off like told-off dogs and they go on up the track and they don't look back.

Now I'm going to be in real trouble. I think I did two really brave things today but I don't think Papa is going to think I did the right thing. I know that because he is looking at me in a strange way.

"Are you all well?" he asks, watching the last man leave the scene. "We cannot stay here but I do not judge it wise to return the way we came. They may decide the fortune we are reputed to have is worth an ambush."

I wait for my turn to speak. My brothers and Papa talk about what to do next but I know what I want to do. I think it is the best plan. But I dig my toe into the soft earth and wait, then I start to talk to Spider to pass the time.

"When we get to Halbarad's place," I say, rubbing his bristly forehead. "I'll brush you down properly. They might have some oats for you."

He nods his head. I don't think he can understand me but maybe he does know the word for oats.

"You were very brave," I tell him, to make him feel better about running away. "I am glad you didn't get hurt. When we get to Halbarad, I'll tell him all about what we did together and how you didn't leave my side till you had to."

I am trying to pull some of the knots from his mane while I talk to him. I work on a tough one and don't notice that Papa is standing behind me.

"Estel," he says, and it's not the angry voice he is using, it's his kind voice. I am a bit surprised. I was sure he would be angry with me.

"Yes, Papa?" I say, hoping it is my turn to speak now.

"Do you truly wish to visit Halbarad and meet your own people?"

My heart speeds up and I feel so excited that it makes me giddy. "Do you really mean it, Papa? Can we go and live with them?"

Papa smiles, then he goes down on one knee. It is easier for him to talk to me then, because he is very tall and old, and it must be hard leaning over me all the time. "You must understand, child. We cannot just leave Imladris and go and impose ourselves on the Ranger people. They have their own lives to lead. But I see no reason why you and I should not visit them. We will go on my horse, and your brothers will take Spider back with them."

I think about this. It is such a mixture of good and bad things I don't know where to start. It doesn't seem a good idea to protest. I like riding with Papa because we can go fast but I don't want poor Spider to go back on his own.

"Come, boy – you must make up your mind. Either we go now, or we all return to Imladris and you will miss your chance."

"Yes," I say quickly. Papa means what he says. "I want that very much. I think Spider might find it too far and he couldn't keep up with your horse, could he?"

"No, Estel, he could not. Now, take up your saddlebags and be ready to ride in five minutes." He looks at the bushes and I know what he means. He won't be pleased if he has to stop for me in a little while all because I forgot to take care of myself.

While I am away, my brothers pack up all the gear, and everyone is mounted when I run back. I take up my water bottle and go to stand by Papa. He lets me have his stirrup and then pulls me up and I wriggle around until I am sitting in front of him. It's not as comfortable as it used to be but we manage.

My brothers take Spider between them and they ride off back the way they came. Elladan waves to me but Elrohir is looking around and doesn't look back at me.

"Now, Estel, we will go and find the Rangers. And as we ride, I am going to talk to you and you can ask me questions, about anything you want, all the way."

"All the way?" I ask. I wriggle around some more to get myself more comfortable. "About anything?"

"Yes," he says as we start off. I am a bit surprised because we are going right after the men but he soon turns off towards the waterfall. Before I can say anything about how dangerous that might be we have splashed through a couple of pools with Papa's big horse hardly taking any notice, and then we are off, through the woods on the other side, the horse moving quickly and Papa holding on to me tightly.

I am so full of questions about everything and I don't know where to begin for so long that Papa asks a question to get me started.

"Did you have another vision, Estel? I thought you were lost to me for a little while."

I nod, then I have to say yes because Papa can't see me nod. "Why were you crying, Papa? When I told you I'd come back down the hill?"

I feel him squeeze me tighter for a minute. "You don't know?" he says.

I think but I can't see what he means. "No, I don't know."

We turn onto another pathway, slightly wider this time, and Papa moves the horse on a little faster. "You were coming back, Estel. That was a good thing to do. I thought you had run away for good and then you said you had chosen to come home."

"I did, Papa. I only didn't get home because of the bad men. Did you defeat them?" I ask. I remember Papa standing in the clearing and I want him to be the winner. I imagine him standing holding his sword up high and shouting at all the men until they went away.

"We called a truce, Estel. It is not good to kill just to defeat people. I had to think of your safety too."

"A truce?" I was going to ask what that was but I had too many other questions, about the things I can see in this place where I have never been before, and about the men we met, and then I remember another questions I had about the halflings, and why they were only halflings even though they were whole, and then Papa laughs. It is so good to hear him laugh that I laugh too, and hold on to the pommel and feel how good it is to be right there, in the saddle, with the horse moving fast over the land and Papa taking me where I want to be.

I haven't told him yet why I want so much to go there, but I will.


	34. Spider Part 13

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(I'm sorry about the delay – work seems to be taking over my life! But I am intending to continue.)

In truth, I do not know exactly where we are going. I know the general direction but the Rangers move their camps from time to time and do not tell others where they are going to settle next. It is my hope that we will pick up a trail, or that we will be found.

We have ridden most of the afternoon and Estel's head is nodding. His questions petered out after an hour or so but they were interesting to answer and gave me some insight into the way his thoughts are growing and beginning to encompass the greater world around him. He has learned some names for trees he has not seen before, and, when we stopped for a few minutes, he came back whistling the song of some birds he could identify only by their call.

Now I have a few questions to ask him. But he must sleep first, for his strength is not yet fully restored and he has begun to cough again. He is not feverish and he grows happier and more relaxed as we go further from Imladris. It is painful to me to admit this but whatever is drawing him to his own people, it is important enough for us to persist in this journey.

As night falls I build a fire for us, in as hidden a place as I can find, and settle Estel in his cloak, my cloak and a blanket. He rests his head on the saddle. I listen to the night, the small rustles and calls as animals move in their own world. And I listen beyond that to the sounds I have heard since my own childhood, the sounds that do not change, that run beneath and through all things in Middle Earth. Then I look to the sky, to the stars and a moon that seems so close tonight. The shadowy patterns on its face have fascinated the child who sleeps by me since he came to live with us. His love of the world and all it has to offer him has brought much joy to my household.

He is like, yet unlike the sons of this line who have been fostered with me in Imladris through the long years. Some have been as studious as he but not as strong-willed; some, like his father, grew up quickly to be strong, stern men, needing little guidance in making their own decisions. To each in their turn have I shown their heritage, and each in turn has gone back to their own people in due time, unable or unwilling to take on the burden of kingship. They knew, each in their own way, that the time was not right, or the man not strong enough to do more than be a chieftain to the Dúnadain. Yet with each son I have looked for someone who might fulfil that destiny.

Estel is different. He looks much as his father did as his age, though he is less heavy-set and he is more open with his feelings. His father learned quickly all the physical skills Estel is coming to master, but Arathorn was not interested in books, maps and pictures, preferring to learn to lead his own people. He gave me his thanks when he left, and I saw him only once after that time, though my sons were often with him.

None before Estel have had these visions, these troubling sights of future or past, I know not which. I do not know if it is an affliction or a blessing. I do not know if such visions should be recorded and interpreted, or driven from him in some way.

My hope is that the boy knows best for himself what he needs to do.

He barely stirs all night. I keep watch but we are undisturbed. I hope my twins reached home safely. The ruse was a simple one, taking Spider with them and leading any pursuit away from us, but I think it will be enough to keep us safe. Elladan will rest, for he has not truly recovered yet, then they may come to escort us home.

I sing quietly to the sun as it rises, and Estel wakes.

"Morning, Papa," he says, before joining his voice to mine. When the golden drop of light that is the sun is revealed by the edge of the world, we are silent for a moment then turn to each other to begin the day.

"Good morning, Estel. You slept well."

He stretches like a cat. "Yes. I'm hungry."

"Then we shall break our fast and continue on our way," I say, reaching for the saddlebags.

"Papa?" Estel says a few minutes later, as he spoons porridge out of his bowl into his mouth. It is a little too hot for him and I can see he is considering spitting it out as he looks at me sideways. Instead, he sucks in air, composes himself and swallows. I nod my approval. He carefully stirs it before trying again.

"Did you wish to ask something?" I say, reminding him of the question he had been on the point of asking.

"Oh, yes. Will we get there today?" He takes another mouthful and then looks up as a bird starts to sing high up in a bare tree, joining the chorus that began before dawn.

"I hope so. Perhaps today. Shall we walk this morning? We have time, and it is a beautiful day. There is more chance we shall see things of interest if we walk."

"Yes, Papa. I'd like that." He smiles, a cheerful, easy smile such as I have not seen him give me for days.

So, once I have shown my son how to erase our presence from the campsite as far as we are able, we begin to walk through the woodlands. Here and there, the smallest pale green leaf is beginning to unfurl, and we stop to admire the way a brown, shiny casing splits to reveal the curled folds of the new leaf.

"Does it grow like that, Papa? Inside? All folded up like that? What makes it flatten out?"

"The sap is rising, Estel. The liquid in the tree flows through the tiny vessels and makes it swell and push aside the brown casing which has held it safe all winter. It is the same as the butterfly you watched last spring, pumping liquid into its wings."

"You mean trees and butterflies do the same thing?" he says, much puzzled. "But they are so different! How can they be the same?"

"The same processes bind all living creatures on the earth, Estel. The same desire to live, to breed the next generation, to grow and fulfil themselves flows through everything. In some things it flows slowly, more slowly than you can imagine. In some, a few days and it is gone."

He runs his finger delicately over the new leaf but says nothing, his brow furrowed in thought. I expect another question but it seems the idea I have planted is not an easy one for him to understand, and he is quiet for many minutes as we continue to walk along the side of the hill. The ground grows steeper, the path more difficult and I lead the horse carefully while Estel runs light-footed on ahead. He slips once but regains his feet and turns to face me, laughing, as little stones tumble down the hill.

"I nearly fell over, Papa!" he says, laughing at himself. "I have big feet! Elladan says I will have to grow tall to match them!"

His mirth is balm to my mind, troubled as I have been by his illnesses. I wish to tell him to be careful but I say nothing. He is not being reckless, he is simply running for the joy of running and soon comes back to me with another find. 

We stop again to admire the rolled-up little creature in his hand. It is tiny but he says it is armoured as for a great battle, and it rolled into a ball when he picked it up.

"It is kin to the creatures which live in our woods, Estel. See," I say, as the woodlouse warily begins to unroll itself, putting out antennae and then legs and waving them in the air, for it is lying on its back. "But ours do not curl themselves up like this."

"Perhaps it is more dangerous for them out in these woods," he says, putting the woodlouse carefully back on the ground and watching it as it makes its way back under the leaf litter. "There are so many things to see in the world. I want to see them all, all the people, all the animals, the mountains, the rivers. I want to see the sea, Papa! But most of all, I want to see the old man Halbarad told me about."

He looks up at me, and I know that the time has come for him to tell me why we are on this journey.

"The old man?" I say, giving my permission to him to tell me what has been on his mind.

Estel begins to walk again, the way now having widened to accommodate both of us.

"Yes. He is very old, so old he cannot see any more. Halbarad says he is very wise and he knows all about our people – my people." Estel falters.

"Go on, my son. They are your people. Tell me about this man."

He bites his lip. "I didn't want you to think I thought you couldn't make me better, Papa," he says, unwilling to look at me now. "But I thought perhaps this man would know something – something else."

"Did Halbarad say this man has powers as a healer?"

"Yes. He said all his family trust him and he helps them. Maybe if I just explained about, you know, about these sort of dreams I have, he'd understand and help me. Do you think he might?"

I put my arm round my son's shoulders and we walk forward together. "It is worth trying, my son. It is worth trying."

At midday, we stop to rest by a stream. Estel washes his hands and face in the cold water, then tries to drag his fingers through his hair, which is even more unruly than usual.

"Come here," I say, and he moves to me, shaking the water from his hands. I smooth his hair and reach to begin to braid it, then stop. "Shall I tie it back, as Halbarad has his tied back? I think it is how your people wear their hair."

"Yes please!" He looks at me, his face shining with happiness. "Make me into a Ranger!"

So, with only a few tugs and grimaces, we manage to tie his hair back from his face, leaving most of it loose but the front hair tied at the back of his skull with a leather thong. We have a short discussion about whether he should look muddier than he already does to meet the Dúnedain, or whether he should be cleaner. I win and he goes back to the stream to clean his boots. His clothes are mismatched, for he is still wearing his spare shirt while his other clothes dry out.

"I ought to have a weapon," he says when he returns, practising looking bold and grown-up by standing as tall as he can and looking as grim as he can, which in truth is unconvincing. "Will my knife be enough?"

"You're going to visit your people, not fight them, my child! Come, though – let us at least polish up this blade and sharpen it, then you can wear it in your belt. I think you will look sufficiently Rangerish then. Now come, let us have this bread and cheese, then we will ride on this afternoon. I hope we will meet up with your people before tonight, for I have found the trail."

And in the late afternoon, as we pass through a glade of tall, slender trees I rein in my horse and greet two tall, grey-clad men, who appear in front of us and bar the way.

"I am Elrond, of Imladris. I have brought Estel with me to visit you."

I nudge Estel, who had been resting his eyes for a moment, and he looks up. I hear him gasp, for the men looked sternly at him, and they both bear swords. He has seen Rangers before but not in their own country, guarding their people.

One approaches us, sheathing his sword and looking curiously at the boy who sits in front of me.

"Is it you, my boy?" he says. I worry for a moment that this man will forget, and call Aragorn by his true name, but the moment passes. These people have as much reason as I for keeping this child secret. "I am your mother's cousin," he says. He reaches up and Estel allows himself to be plucked from the saddle and then swung up onto the Ranger's shoulders.

"Papa!" he says, grinning. "I'm so tall!"

I jump down from my horse and follow the three, feeling suddenly that my son has become, in a moment, a stranger to me. It is a sad feeling, and I am glad Estel does not see it in my face, for we are heading down into the valley and I can smell woodsmoke and begin to see roundhouses and people.

We are coming in triumph to the Rangers' camp, and Estel will be among his people, and I feel the ghost of the loss that is to come overshadowing my heart.


	35. Spider Part 14

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(A/N – I am grasping a nettle here. I am hoping my idea won't offend anyone – gulp! And if anyone has been following Viggo's stories of his childhood in Argentina, there is a little reference to one of them here, just for fun!)

Estel is set on his feet before he enters the camp, and strides down the path, trying to keep up with the two tall men who flank him. As I follow them down the steep path, the Rangers' camp comes into view. It is well sheltered from the north winds by a hill and trees, and a clear stream runs close by. There are a dozen roundhouses, made of hides, roofed and walled and comfortable-looking. Smoke rises through holes in the roofs, and people are gathered in doorways, talking.

I am known to some of them, and we nod and greet one another. One takes my horse from me and another guides me to the central house, which is somewhat larger than the rest. Estel has gone somewhere else, but he is among his own people and I trust them to care for him. I enter the roundhouse as directed.

"Welcome, Master Elrond, to my humble home." A woman stands before me in the warm shadows of the house. She holds out her hand in welcome. "You and your foster-son are more than welcome here. Please, allow me to offer you some refreshment." She is tall, like many of the people, and slender, and she wears a dark green dress, decorated with an elaborate brooch. She smiles gently.

"I thank you," I say, shaking her hand then seating myself on the brightly-coloured mat on the floor. The house at first seemed dark and simple, yet as I look around, I see much that is rich and well-wrought, in the wall hangings, the drinking vessels – even the cooking pots are elegantly shaped and decorated.

"My husband is away tonight, or he would have greeted you himself. You do our people a great service by caring for Estel. He is growing up quickly," my hostess says, ladling soup into a bowl.

"He is," I reply. I take the bowl, and a plate with some fine bread on it. The soup tastes well-made, with a pleasing depth to the flavours. I nod my thanks and she smiles again. She has a strong-featured face and greying hair, and seems every inch mistress of the place.

"I hope we are not imposing," I say, though I know what her answer will be. "I did not intend to bring Estel here but – well, he insisted. He even ran away to be here."

"Did he indeed! He is an adventurous one. It is a long way here."

"He had to escape a band of men by crossing a waterfall but he reached a point where he could not move. I do not think he would have survived had he been there much longer. He had to jump into my arms to escape."

"He must trust you absolutely," she says quietly, then looks up as someone comes to the doorway and waits for her permission to speak.

"Master Elrond." Estel's escort says. "May I offer your foster son a bath and some clean clothes? It seems he has been standing in a waterfall and sleeping in the wild, and he is none too clean. I hope you do not take offence."

I laugh, to the surprise of my hosts. "Estel believes that all Rangers must be muddy to be true to their heritage," I offer by way of explanation. "He will not understand being made to bathe here. I think he believes that the bearing of mud is a badge of honour."

We are all three laughing now, and I imagine Estel's face when he is told he must wash to be a Ranger. I saw the expression earlier, as he cleaned his boots in the stream. Now he will have to suffer even more.

"If you need my permission, you certainly have it," I tell them. "But with the warning that his manners in accepting such hospitality may not be as good as I would wish them to be."

"We have promised him that he can stay in Halbarad's house tonight – but only if he is clean. I think that will be enough of an incentive to stand the indignity."

I laugh again. These are wise people, strong and stern on the outside, but they hide a rich community and a sound way of life and I am glad to see this at first hand after so long. I should have visited them before.

"Will you share my house?" my hostess says. "You will have a curtained space, and my brother sleeps here too, with his wife, so all shall be well. We may not have grand homes like yours, but we are an honourable people still."

I bow my acceptance. They are an honourable people indeed.

Once I have finished my meal, we begin to talk about the reasons for my visit, though my hostess does not press me for information. I tell her all I have observed in the boy since his ninth birthday, and she nods and occasionally asks for more details. It is oddly reassuring to be discussing the boy in this way, as if we are healers in consultation, and as I tell her I begin to see the pattern that has developed.

"So – he has slipped in and out of illness, one day well, the next unwell, with the symptoms you have described. He has had visions and they have scared him. He has even lost consciousness. And he has taken to running away. As curious a set of symptoms as a doctor could wish, should they like a puzzle to solve."

"That is not all," I say, thinking through what she has said. "He broke his arm, and has received a minor wound from an orc's arrow."

"Either injury might be significant," she says. "Is there more? Why has he run away this time?"

I reach out for the beautiful silver drinking vessel and drink the mead she has so kindly poured for me. It is a little more difficult to tell even this kindly woman the errors of judgement I have made, but it must be told. I begin to know that she will be able to help my boy.

"He has always enjoyed drawing what he has seen, and I have a pile of his pictures of the birds, the leaves and the flowers he has seen. He once spent a whole month drawing ants, trying to articulate their bodies correctly." There, I am procrastinating. It must be said. "All his pictures to this time have been of things he has observed in the world around him."

"Has he now begun to draw pictures from his imagination?" the woman asks. It does not surprise me that she knows. It becomes clear she knows what to expect.

"Yes. He did. And what he drew, because I did not understand it, though I felt it was in some way evil, I – I burned it."

She looks at me steadily. There is no judgment in her eyes, only a steady understanding. Then she nods. "It is enough. Tomorrow, I shall talk to Estel myself. Now, shall we see if he is fit to be taken into Halbarad's house for the night?"

We go outside, where the trees are dark outlines against the pink-grey sky, and the camp is quieter than it was. Most people have withdrawn into their family houses, pulling blankets closed over the entrances, but there is still a quiet murmur of voices. I listen carefully, then turn to the south, for I know well the happy song that I can hear.

The headwoman leads me between two roundhouses to a third on the edge of the village. Heat comes from the house, steam rising into the still evening air, and from within comes the sound of water being splashed, as well as Estel's voice, singing a song he has not sung for two or three years now. It is a nonsense song I taught him to make bathing fun, all about the creatures who might share his bath – a water vole, I believe I remember, and a swan and a duck. He loved the verse about the duck above all the others, though I am unsure why – perhaps because it was the last before we allowed him out of the water.

"I shall leave you with the boy, Master Elrond. I am sure I do not need to warn you to take care not to get wet." She smiled again. "We are all very happy to welcome you and Estel to the camp, my lord. We shall guard him as a priceless treasure and we shall keep his secret safe."

She withdraws, her step silent, and she is gone quickly. I push aside the blanket over the entrance and go into the bathhouse.

Estel is out of the tub, is wrapped in a large towel, and is drying himself busily.

"Papa! Look!" he says as soon as he sees me, and I will admit the sound of his greeting was a pleasure to me. He grabs a leather coat and holds it up for me to see.

"Halbarad found me a leather coat all of my own!" Estel says.

I look into the shadows and see Halbarad standing quietly, waiting to greet me. He bows and says, "My lord," in the manner of his people.

"Halbarad. It is good to see you. You are well?"

"Yes, my lord," he says.

Estel has put the towel aside and is pulling on clean clothes. When he is dressed in his undergarments, Halbarad helps him pull on a somewhat oversized shirt, then a jacket, then the leather coat. Boots with ties to secure them to his legs come next, and finally a belt. He stands for my inspection, and I instruct him to turn as if he is using a sword.

"You look very – very Rangerish, Estel," I say, and he beams.

"I've been trying but it's not the same, mixing my clothes and Halbarad's. Now I can be a proper Ranger whenever I want." He looks at me. "Is that all right, Papa?"

"You are Edain, Estel. You will walk in my world for a while, and with your own people for a while, until you grow to be a man." Just as your father did, and your grandfather, I thought, but did not say out loud. There will be time for that information in the future.

"All right," he says, nodding, and sweeping his arm back and forth in an imitation of his brothers' swordplay.

"We must empty the bath, Captain," says Halbarad, stepping over to take one handle of the tub. Estel continues to play with his imaginary sword and my mind leaps ahead to the inevitable, but unfortunately too slowly. Estel turns, swinging his arm, and the small table with soap, pitcher and bowl on it topples to the ground, smashing the pretty pitcher.

"No!" Estel cries, putting his hand over his mouth. He looks at me, all eyes. "Oh no!"

"Who is that, breaking my precious crockery?"

The blanket over the door is swept aside and someone comes in, a woman, whose feet I see as I help Estel to pick up the shards.

"Could we stick it back together?" Estel asks anxiously, trying to match two pieces. "It's only in four or five or six pieces. And this little bit," he says, holding up one with a sharp edge. He is sucking one finger already and I take the small one from him before he cuts another. He catches sight of the woman who has entered and blushes, then stands slowly. He drops his head. "Is it yours, my lady?" he says quietly.

"It was," she says.

I recall that voice and stand. "I apologise for my son," I say. "Estel, you may apologise."

He steps forward and bows. "I am truly sorry," he says. "I was trying out my new coat and practising my sword swing and I forgot the table was there. I will try to find you a new pitcher as soon as I can."

The woman smiles at him. She is noticeably older than any of the people in the village, her hair almost white, her face lined by the cares of the years, and she supports herself on a walking stick. But she is still imposing, her eye imperious, and Estel looks to me for guidance.

"I will help you to earn a new one, my son," I say. "And we will talk about places where it is suitable to practise your swordplay, and places where it is not. Now go, help Halbarad take out the tub."

He bows again and goes to grab the handle, with one finger still in his mouth. He has to use both hands, hurt of not, to carry the heavy tub and together they stagger out of the roundhouse, the tub swinging dangerously between them.

When he is gone, I turn to the woman. "It has been a long time since you have stayed here, my lady," I say, for I know her well.

"Come, Elrond – we know one another better than that. So that is Estel. He is taller than I thought he would be, but he is looking pale. I hope he is well."

"Your grandson is here to be made well, Lady Ivorwen."

"Indeed?" says Estel's grandmother. "Then all that may be done shall be done to help him." And Ivorwen, widow of Arador, draws herself up and smiles at me. "We have much to speak about, old friend. We shall speak of his mother, Gilraen, and we shall speak of Estel and of your sons. And, if you wish, we shall speak of your dear wife."

I nod. We have much to discuss but it will not be until the morrow, for Estel has returned. He looks at Ivorwen, his eyes narrowed.

"Do you know me?" he asks, ever direct. "I feel as if you do."

She goes to him, and takes his hand. "You are my grandson, child. Now come, you must be hungry."

And so, two strong wills meet, and I wonder what sparks will fly, as Estel opens his mouth to ask the dozens of questions which must have flooded his mind immediately, and his grandmother silences him with a single look. I am suddenly anticipating the morrow with great interest.


	36. Spider Part 15

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(A/N As you will I am sure realise, I am fishing about for answers to a number of things which are puzzling me about Estel/Aragorn, especially the fact the he is the one of all of those of his line fostered by Elrond who becomes King. I hope the answers I am gradually working my way towards will prove satisfying to you.)

When I have bathed, and spoken again for a short while with my hostess and with her brother and his wife, I retire to the warm and comfortable bed they have provided for me. There I rest, sitting calmly, thinking, remembering, until the early hours of the morning.

Then there is a sound, a slight movement of air. I reach for the curtain and move it aside a little.

In the warm light from the fire Estel is standing, looking about him. He is wearing a nightshirt. One hand has balled the material tightly at his side.

"Papa?" he says quietly, plaintively. "Where are you?"

I pull the curtain all the way back and hold my hand out to him. "Here, Estel. Hush."

He walks over to me. "I forgot where I was," he says. He climbs up on the bed and sits down next to me.

The headwoman's brother draws his own curtain aside for a moment but I catch his eye and he smiles and goes back to bed.

"Well now," I say, drawing a blanket up over Estel then settling back comfortably.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Something woke me up and I couldn't get back to sleep. There's something I almost dreamed. I don't want it in my dreams and I'm afraid if I sleep again it will get into my head and I won't be able to get rid of it."

"It is strange here," I say. "You are in a new place. You are bound to be unsettled."

"Yes, Papa," he says, but the plaintive quality in his voice has not gone. It is very dark behind the curtain. I am sure he can see nothing. I get up and light a rush lamp, then take it back to my space in the hut. He looks up when I return.

"Am I too big to sleep here tonight?" he asks.

"I think there is enough room for both of us," I say, and I wait for his smile.

He does smile but it is watery, like pale sunshine through a veil of cloud. "I'm nine," he says. "Halbarad says by the age of nine, most of the boys here can go on hunting trips with their fathers."

We are going to stray into very difficult territory far too rapidly, if I am not careful. "Estel – it is not even light yet. It is not time to think about such matters. Go to sleep now. I will keep this bad thing away from you, whatever it is. Perhaps tomorrow you will be able to spend time with your grandmother. She is a fine lady, Estel, and she will tell you many stories about the exploits of Ranger boys."

"She will? I didn't even know I had a grandmother," he says. "When will mother come home?"

The old answer comes to my lips, though I know it will not hold his questions much longer. "Soon, Estel. She is visiting her own people, you know that. She will return when she is ready."

"Yes, Papa." He sighs, tired now and warmer than when he came searching for me. He settles on his side, close by but not touching me, for he does not want to be seen as a little boy any more. When he is asleep again I draw him to me and put my own ward round him, to keep whatever troubles him at bay.

Just before dawn, I wake him and send him back to his own bed.

"Make sure you tidy up your bedroll properly," I tell him. "Wash, and have some breakfast and find something useful to do until I come for you."

"You won't tell anyone – about me waking up, will you?" he says, choosing his words carefully.

"Hurry back now. No-one will know. And find a comb – I'll have to cut the tangles out of your hair if you don't." I push his dark hair off his brow. He is a little happier this morning but the eager light in his eye has dimmed. "You'll be able to learn some new skills while you're here. Then we can practice them when we get home."

"Home," he says. "My tree," he adds. Then, "Spider!"

"They will all be safe when we return. I gave special instructions for your tree to be tended with great care. Your brothers are looking after Spider. They may bring your pony with them when they come to escort us home."

"Yes!" he says, his cheerfulness returning. "May I play in the stream this morning, Papa? I saw some boys down there yesterday evening. It looked fun."

"You may play on the bank of the stream but you will be meeting your grandmother properly. Did she speak to you long last night?"

"She took me straight to Halbarad's house and left me, there, Papa. I don't think she was very pleased with me."

"In that case, I think she would prefer you to be clean and not to drip on her mats, child." I smile at him and the grin on his face lets me send him back to Halbarad with a lighter heart.

I want Estel to have time to find his feet here without my constant guardianship but it is still difficult to eat with my hostess and not go searching for him, to make sure he has broken his own fast.

It is full daylight when I go to seek out Ivorwen. I cannot see Estel anywhere, though I can hear children playing. The camp is busy with activity as I pass through but I am greeted at every turn by these courteous people. I walk, as instructed, right through camp until I see a house on its own, a larger roundhouse with a richly decorated doorway. I ask permission to enter and the door blanket is held aside by a pretty young woman, who leaves us alone.

Ivorwen is sitting in a solid, comfortable wooden chair. She has two great hounds at her feet, which regard me suspiciously as I enter. She lays her hand on a large head and the dogs relax, sprawled by the fire.

"My lady," I say, bowing my head.

"Elrond," she says. "Come, sit." She indicates a second chair, well furnished with cushions and I sit down there. In the gloom of the house I note golden objects, rich tapestries and items so ancient they come from another time, yet are familiar to me.

"You are in good health, I hope?" I ask her.

"I am. But I hear that my grandson is not. He is showing some very worrying symptoms."

Ivorwen never was one to mince her words. It was thanks to her straight speaking that Gilraen married, young as she was, and Aragorn was born.

We spend a long while in front of her fire, while her hounds doze, discussing Estel. Ivorwen begins to tell me what they can do to make him well but as she speaks, I become more afraid for my boy. For the cure is not any easy road for him, neither the taking of herbs, nor a change of diet or exercise, nor even a return to his people. No, the route that is proposed will be a hard one.

"I hope for long life for the boy," Ivorwen says. "Longer than his father's or his grandfather's. I hope he will not die needlessly. His illness, Elrond – it is a mark of – of significance."

She reaches for her walking stick and begins to stand. I would question her further on her last statement but she denies me, moving to the doorway, her hounds following her.

"Let us go and see what my grandson is doing," she says. "Later, I shall call together those with knowledge and we shall decide what is to be done. And I shall send a rider for his mother. She may not be able to come in time, but it is well she knows what is to be done."

"Is she well?" I ask, following the old woman and lending her my arm when the way becomes a little slippery.

"She will never be quite well, Elrond. But she is quieter now, and she tries to be well, for her son's sake. I think in time she will return to you and live in Imladris again, but not in this season. The boy has thrived with you, loves you and his brothers – he is not harmed because his mother lives away from him for now. There will be time for them to be together."

I know in my heart she is right, yet I know also that Estel misses her and wishes she were still living with us. It was a hard judgement to separate them but it was the right one. I do not know if I want her to be with us again.

Such thoughts are soon put aside as we go together down to the stream. It seems Ivorwen knows exactly where to find the boy, though I do not recall telling her of Estel's plans. Perhaps it is the sudden quiet that has fallen, all childish laughter and shouting ceased, or perhaps it is Ivorwen's grip on my arm, but I sense not all is well and can only hope Estel has not done something wrong.

"What do you think you are doing?" I hear a man's voice, and an angry one. "Did you not think before you did this? Is our secrecy nothing to you?"

"Be still!" Ivorwen commands as we come near the stream. "You will not speak to my grandson in such a manner!"

And indeed, there is Estel, being held firmly by the arm, and red in the face with emotion.

"What did I do wrong?" he says.

Half a dozen youngsters, the oldest no more than six or so, watches events. They are all sobbing, and one is holding a boat made of leaves and sticks to his chest as if it is precious to him.

The man lets Estel go at Ivorwen's command. I cannot for the life of me see what it is that Estel might have done to upset the tall man, whose hand is on the hilt of his sword.

"My lady," the man says. "This boy, who came among us only yesterday as a welcome guest, has been teaching the children to make boats and float them on the water. Do you not realise, boy," he says, his anger rising again as he turns to Estel, "that this stream flows through land our enemies watch? What better sign could there be that we are here?"

Estel blinks, oncoming tears held back by force of will. "Then I will fetch them all," he says, "though the birds and the animals and even I know just where to find you!" With which words he is off, running into the stream, catching up the little flotilla of boats which bobs on the surface of the water, and throwing them onto the bank. He splashes downstream and grabs every one, though I move down the bank and call to him. When the last one has been destroyed, he stands in the middle of the stream, his eyes blank, staring up beyond us all.

"We cannot be safe!" he calls in a loud voice. "We are not safe here, or there, or in any place in this land! The world is too big and the people are too small and helpless!"

"Estel – Estel." I call to him then walk into the stream to catch him when he comes to himself. For he is lost in a vision and will not know the world when the pictures in his head leave him.

"There is a power in the world that reaches for me," he says, then I take him in my arms and he is quiet, falling into unconsciousness before my eyes.

Everyone is very quiet, even the children who had been crying, and more of the Dúnedain gather as I carry Estel to the bank of the stream and stand with him in my arms. Even the voice of the stream seems stilled.

Estel comes to himself and I set him on the ground, and kneel next to him, supporting him.

"Speak, Estel. Tell me what happened."

"I was thinking what I could do to make the children happy, and I thought about when we made those boats, Papa. You remember? So I found some big leaves and some sticks and we were making them. I thought, if I put them in the water myself, then everyone would be safe, so I didn't let anyone else in the stream and I put the boats on the water, one by one. I didn't think where they would go next. Did I catch them all, Papa?" He is becoming agitated, but these people must know what happened. I will not leave any doubt in their minds about my son's – their chieftain's – thoughtfulness and care.

"You caught every one, Estel. Every one. Now, do you remember what happened next?"

He looks around him, becoming aware of the number of eyes that watch, the number of ears that listen.

"Speak, Estel," Ivorwen says, not unkindly but with enough authority to support the boy's efforts.

"I had a vision. I saw the whole world and it was full of little creatures, and they were hiding away from the world. But I could see them all, every one, bad ones under the mountains and fair ones living in the woods and by the sea. But the whole world was going dark, Papa! The whole world!"

He is sobbing now, and there is a murmur among the people of the village, who have listened to their chieftain and his vision, and have been disturbed by his words.

Ivorwen sends one of her hounds forward, and it goes gently to Estel, leaning its head on his shoulder. He absent-mindedly reaches for its ear, then turns to it and puts his arms round its neck, burying his face in its rough coat.

"Return to your work," the headwoman commands, obeying a quiet suggestion from Ivorwen. "This afternoon, we meet."

I put a cloak round Estel's shoulders and let the dog lead us away from everyone, a little way downstream. The dog halts by a grassy bank, laced with early flowers, coltsfoot and even a few fragile violets. The dog sits and Estel sits by him, arm around his new companion. I sit a little apart, until the boy turns to look at me. His clear, grey eyes seem older, as if I look on the face of a man full grown.

"Did I see the future?" he asks me. "Will it be my fate to hold back this dark?"

I do not know what to say to this man who sits before me, gazing up and expecting my answer. When he sees I can say nothing, he looks back at the stream and the sound of its passage over the stones, the multitude of notes and voices in its waters, performs its magic.

"I do not know either, Papa," he says, and his voice tells me my boy has been returned to me.

He pats the dog vigorously, then grabs a stick and throws it. The dog looks at him, then bounds away, splashing through the water and retrieving it. He shakes himself when he returns and Estel laughs.

"Can we keep him?" he asks and again I do not know the answer. Ivorwen comes to my rescue.

"No, you may not keep Keeper. He is my dog and we have been together for many years. But you may, with your father's permission, keep this one with you. He will prove a faithful companion and one who may keep you from harm, when he grows up."

The young woman who showed me into Ivorwen's house carries a small, wriggling puppy in her arms, and I sense that I am being backed into a corner. Not unwillingly, however. These dogs are indeed good companions, brave and strong, and if this pup is of the line of Ivorwen's own hounds then this is a great gift indeed.

"May I, Papa?" Estel says, overwhelmed.

"Of course you may," I say gladly.

Estel steps forward and takes the puppy, which immediately licks his face. "I shall think about a name for you," he says, sitting down again and putting the puppy on the grass. Then he remembers his manners.

"Thank you, Grandmother," he says. "Thank you." He is too full of his emotion, too tired from his ordeal to say more.

"You are welcome, my boy. Think long and hard about his name, for it is not good to call an animal by a fell name."

"I called my pony Spider," Estel says, looking up. "Is that not a good name?"

Ivorwen does not answer. Halbarad, who has been standing close by comes to sit down next to Estel, petting Keeper and admiring the new puppy. They are soon happily absorbed.

I go to stand by Ivorwen. "Thank you. That is a rich and useful gift."

"I wish I could give him more, Elrond. But I am sure the puppy is going to his rightful owner. Come now, let us leave them. You and I have preparations to make."

"Come in when you're hungry, Estel!" I say.

"Yes, Papa," he says, the puppy settled in his arms. It is a happy moment but it will not last, not if he is to be made well.


	37. Captain 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

As I walk away from my boy, Ivorwen takes my arm.

"He is strong, Elrond. With help and support he will come through this trial stronger still, and free from these visions. If we leave him as he is, they will consume him. His life will be a waking dream and he will be prey to illness all his life."

Her bluntness takes me by surprise but it is better that I know now, and not when they meet this afternoon.

"Yet you know the cure for this?"

"We have sent for the one who knows. He will be able to turn this gift outwards, so that, in time, he will be able to heal others. It will take time and courage but he will come into an inheritance none of his line has even thought to aspire to since Isildur himself."

The world has dimmed around me. I hear Ivorwen's voice but my own thoughts, my own concerns turn me away from such news. Such a moment, to learn this. Such a burden for the boy to carry, yet it is a chance, too. A chance for the world. Hope, I named him. Hope now surges in me, that here is the King. Here at last is the one we have awaited through the years.

"Elrond?"

I hear her voice but for a moment, I cannot speak.

"Come. Let us sit, and take some wine, and talk of other matters. Come, old friend. I have given you too much to consider." And she walks me back to her house, as if I were the old man.

After a cup of wine I am recovered, which is just as well, for Estel appears at the doorway, his puppy at his heels. He seems quite sure already who is his master.

"I'm hungry, Papa! And my pup is hungry too. I can't think of a name for him. I think I shall have to wait until he is older and can tell me his own name. At the moment, all he does is trip me up." Which the puppy obligingly demonstrates. The puppy's lugubrious look, his thin tail and overlong legs remind me irresistibly of Estel.

"Take him back to his littermates, child," Ivorwen. "He has much to learn before he can home with you."

Estel looks puzzled for a moment. "Will he be staying here with you, Grandmother?" he asks deferentially.

"For a while. He is barely seven weeks old. He is not housebroken yet and he has much to learn from his mother and his brothers and sisters. But in three months or so, he shall be yours – he is yours now. Do you understand?"

It seems this is to be his first test – obedience to his grandmother's will. I am confident that he will make his own sort of sense of it. He does not disappoint me.

"Then he must stay here and learn. He is too little to be away from his family. I will wait until he is ready and then I shall train him most carefully. Will he be as big as your dogs, Grandmother?" He picks up the puppy, which is half-asleep. I hear a note of disappointment in his voice but he is clearly satisfied that the pup is too young to be entirely his yet.

Ivorwen smiles gently, clearly impressed. "He will, Estel. Bigger, perhaps. In three months, then, at the end of the summer, I shall send your dog to you. Now, take him to the next house, where his mother will be waiting for him."

The puppy has become limp with sleep and Estel carries him most carefully out of the house.

"He is a good child," she says. Then she sighs. "I do not know if what has been revealed in him will be a burden to him or a joy. He has great understanding, too. We shall have to guard very carefully against him accidentally finding out his true heritage too early. If he holds that knowledge in his mind it will be more difficult still to keep him hidden. Well, now – perhaps you would like a little more information about the treatment we are proposing? Then we must see about keeping him occupied and away from our conference. It is best to take him through each stage of the cure separately."

So we talk, and I suggest herbs that may help the process. Ivorwen nods to some, shakes her head to other proposals, until I have a list. I send immediately to Imladris for these and invite my sons to join us, for the more comfortable Estel feels, the more likelihood there is that we shall cure him.

Estel, Ivorwen and I eat a good midday meal together then it begins to rain, hard, the puddles ringed with echoes of the raindrops. Estel stares at it, stuck indoors and wanting, no doubt, to go and play with his puppy. He sniffs, and throws a stone into a large puddle that is forming just outside the door.

"I wanted to begin teaching him to sit," he says. "I know he's a bit little but I have saved some treats for him, and I could have given him one every time he sat down by accident. He'd soon learn, wouldn't he, Grandmother?"

"They are wise creatures, child. He will soon learn what he needs to learn. You must be very careful to get him to walk on the leash without pulling, for he will be very strong. But they do have one fault."

She has gone to stand next to him, and their words are almost lost in the rain.

"Oh?" Estel says, looking up.

"They are good guard dogs, and they will protect you against any foe. But they do sometimes forget themselves and try to lick their enemies to death."

"They don't! Do they?" Estel smiles uncertainly. He does not yet know his grandmother well enough to tell if she is joking.

"Keeper once went right up to an orc and leaned his head on the wicked creature's shoulder. I think it did the trick, though. I think the orc died of fright."

"Grandmother – are you sure?"

Ivorwen reaches out to her grandson, who happily goes to stand at her side.

"Perhaps I made part of that story up," she concedes. "But they are friendly. Spend time with your new puppy, Estel. Play with him and yet make sure you show him who is master. He will try to please you after a while, and he must be sure you will be kind to him so that he can trust you always. Then he will have a long and happy life with you."

Estel nods. Then he takes a step forward and peers outside.

"There are lots of people coming here," he says. "Are they coming for the meeting?"

"I thought we would meet here. It is so wet out and my old bones do not like the damp. Now, get your cloak and run and find Halbarad, child. You may return when I send for you."

Estel grabs his cloak, flings it round himself and then is gone into the rain. He knows the meaning of the word "meeting" and we had little trouble persuading him that he did not need to be there.

As meetings go, it is interesting enough, for many recall lore and experiences from the past, handed on down through the families in ancient journals or, more often, in oral records, passed from one generation to the next. I listen more than I speak, and I am impressed by the knowledge these people hold in themselves. There is not much outward show but they are secure in a great deal of knowledge.

The condition Estel is experiencing is discussed at length but with a great deal of care. There are some who know the old prophecy about the king-healer, who will be known by his power to heal people in direst need. But that idea is not dwelled on. Even here, in this secure place, spies in the form of birds and animals cannot be discounted. So no names are mentioned, and the words do not accurately reflect all that is being conveyed in looks and gestures.

At last, Ivorwen speaks out. "It is time to bring the boy before us," she says, resting her hands on her stick and leaning forward from her seat in her chair. "A few simple questions, then we will know whether to proceed with this business."

A messenger is sent and Estel returns. He is a good deal damper than I would like to see him but he seems warm and happy enough.

"Come here, child," Ivorwen says. "You must answer one of two questions for us."

"Yes, grandmother," he says, stepping up without fear, and I see Ivorwen's wisdom in making a good relationship with her grandson as quickly as she has done.

"You have been unwell recently. I would think you have found that much against your nature."

"I hate lying in bed," he says. "I keep having things wrong with me, and then Papa makes me go to bed."

"That is my point exactly, child. You should be up and about. And you have had some trouble with, shall we call them, waking dreams? You had one this morning, did you not?"

Estel hangs his head but his grandmother will have none of that.

"Look up. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are among your own family here and we understand what has been happening to you."

"Then I want to understand it too. I think it could be a useful thing if only I could use it properly."

"Are you willing to take a risk – to endure some discomfort, even – to master this skill?"

Now Estel looks for me, and I return his gaze as neutrally as I can. This must be his own decision.

"Yes, Grandmother. I will do what you want me to do." And right there, in front of the group of unsmiling people, he bows to her. "I will do whatever you want."

Ivorwen stands and announces to the gathered people, "Go then. Make the preparations. The day after, Estel, you shall fast. That night, the one who will guide you will be here, and then will shall build the special place where you will be cured."

I watch the people and listen to the instructions which are being handed out, work being divided up. A small house. A large pile of stones and enough wood to last. Buckets of water. Herbs.

They will sweat my boy, sweat him until he is well again, until his spirit is clean and his body is ready to take back its strength. How long will it take? That is all I can consider for a moment, until Estel returns me to the present.

"Will Elladan and Elrohir come here in time?" he asks. "And are you going to be here too?"

"Yes. We will be here. I have already sent word. Don't worry, Estel – all will go well, you will see."

But I wonder if my words are to reassure him or to reassure me.


	38. Captain 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Elladan takes over the narrative.)

We were delayed overnight by the torrential rain but this morning, the sun shines palely, a cream disk in the sky, and we follow our guide more quickly, our horses and Estel's pony splashing along the narrow path.

Our guide whistles a greeting, or perhaps a pass sign, and we dismount. The ground is marked with faint pathways and the scent of woodsmoke and cooking is in the air; we are close to the village. I smile and look at Elrohir, who walks alongside me.

"It is good to be here," I say. "It is too long since we visited."

"Aye," Elrohir replies. "Too often do we fight with Rangers at our side. It will be good to visit them in peace."

And we descend the slope and come among the houses, where the people have long been up and about, and look for Father and for Estel.

"Elladan!" comes a happy shout. "Elrohir!" Estel runs up to us. He is carrying a puppy, a grey, sad-eyed, long-nosed puppy. Estel looks like a Ranger child – even his hair is tied back as theirs is.

"Good morning, brother," I say. "And does your puppy have a name?"

"He's too little," he says. "Grandmother says I can have him at the end of the summer, when he's learned what he needs to learn. Papa's talking to Grandmother now, over in that house." He gestures with his shoulder, since his arms are occupied. "Oh! You brought Spider!"

Now he is torn. He can't put the puppy down because it will get soaking wet and filthy on the muddy path but he wants to see his pony.

"Here," my brother offers. "Let me keep the nameless puppy for a while. You'll need to give Spider a good rubdown and feed. He's been a long way in a short while."

So there is an exchange of animals and we leave Estel with Spider. He will be occupied for quite a while seeing to the pony's needs.

Elrohir enquires where to leave the puppy, finds the right house and disappears inside while I go to find Father.

"Elladan," he says gravely as soon as I am given permission to enter Ivorwen's house, where I had been directed by a young girl.

"Father," I say, greeting him formally as his demeanour demands. "Estel seems happy with his puppy."

"The dog is a wise gift," Father says. "Ah, Elrohir."

"Father," Elrohir says as he enters, carefully wiping his boots on the mat placed there. "Ivorwen. I am happy to see you so well and that Estel has met his grandmother."

"I am well, and I am pleased to see you all three here. Come, refresh yourselves."

We do, my brother and I, but I am concerned that the atmosphere is dark, the greeting guarded, when I had expected a joyful reunion – had been yearning for it after days of concern.

"Where is Estel?" my father asks as he hands me a piece of bread.

"He is attending to Spider. Father – what is wrong?" I ask, anxious to hear what is troubling him.

Then Ivorwen surprises us all. "You allowed him to name his pony Spider? Elrond? You allowed this?"

My father is rarely lost for words, but this old woman, with her intense gaze, has caught him with this question of hers and he is unable to answer.

"He has a way of picking names," Elrohir says, filling the awkward silence. "He seems to see the name of a creature, find the truth in it. Until now, we have left him to make his own choices."

Ivorwen pauses. She has always spoken her mind in the past and I wonder at her hesitation now. Then she looks at my father. "Hear me, old friend. This is an ill choice and he must be persuaded to change it, or you must take the pony from him and give him a horse he can name well. Ruby was his horse, was it not? A fine name for a fine horse. You cannot allow him to ride a pony with such a fell name."

My father clears his throat and appears to make up his mind quickly. "Estel loves the little creatures which spin beautiful, shining webs in our gardens, Ivorwen. He watches them by the hour. He knows nothing of the evil creatures of which you speak, and I will not tell him that he has named his pony wrongly."

Ivorwen's expression becomes hard, and the determination in her eye reminds me that she has lived long, and protected her family fiercely over many years. She has lost husband and son to evil and is roused to anger quickly by any threat to her people.

Elrohir glances across at me, and it seems to me he is nervous. I do not know what to do for the best, for Father's temper can be roused too, more so since our mother left us.

"Perhaps we should speak to him, Father?" I offer, but it seems he does not hear me.

"I shall not ask him to change it," Father says. "He is a stubborn child and this will upset and anger him. We need him here, calm and happy, if we are to put him through these trials of yours."

Ivorwen leans forward, hand raised. "Of mine? We have agreed on the boy's treatment and it will take place as has been arranged. I cannot allow him to keep something close to his heart when it has a name of those foul creatures of Mirkwood."

Elrohir puts his hand on my arm. "Come," he says. "Let us see about our own horses. We should be poor guests if we were to force others to care for them."

I nod and we stand to leave, giving our farewells to this formidable lady, who barely nods. Father does not acknowledge us at all.

Outside, it is beginning to drizzle again.

"Let's give Estel a chase, brother," Elrohir suggests. "If he's going to face some trouble, then let's give him some fun first."

I nod, then follow Elrohir to the edge of the camp, and we take up station behind the nearest house. I risk a glance and find Estel has his back to us, so we watch him busily brushing, just as he has been taught, and listen to him talking to his pony, while we plan our attack in signs to each other.

"I have a puppy, Spider," he says, the rhythm of his words matching the strokes of his brush. "I have a puppy. He's a hound, and he's all mine."

Elrohir grins wolfishly and starts to stalk the boy, who continues his labours and his chatter without noticing us. He hushes me when I try to remind him about our horses, which are being attended to, a job we should be doing.

"He's going to be big, pony," Estel says, pausing to smooth his pony's coat with his hand. "I think he might be almost as big as you when he grows up. Maybe you'll be too small for me by then. Oh well, that's ages yet. Now, where was I?"

Elrohir takes another step forward while I hang back, and I think I notice a flicker in Estel's expression.

"Oh yes. I have – two big, ugly – brothers," each pause, a sweep of the brush. "I have – two big, ugly – brothers. They don't know I know, they think I don't know, they don't know I know they're right up close behind me!"

Elrohir takes the last few steps quickly as he realises Estel has found him out, then Estel turns and sticks his tongue out at him. It is irresistible. We step closer, my brother pounces, sending Estel giggling into my arms. I grab him and start tickling him but he slithers away, ducking under Spider's head and running a short distance.

"Can't catch me!" he shouts and we give chase, letting him lead us through the village, much to the amusement of the people, who shout their support to Estel. He tries to take one corner too quickly, his feet going from under him, and lands in a pool of muddy water, laughing hard and then splashing the water at us. Elrohir grabs one arm and I the other and we lift him out and set him back on his feet. He is breathless and hot and happy.

But we have stopped outside Ivorwen's house and from inside, the voices, though muffled, are loud and angry and Estel's happiness disappears in a moment.

We are not close enough to stop him. He takes two steps and goes inside the house without asking, and there is a sudden silence. Elrohir goes in and I follow, and I find Estel standing by the fire, hands in fists, looking at his grandmother. I cannot see his face but I do not need to.

"Grandmother! Why are you shouting at Papa?"

I see Elrohir wince and follow his eyes to look at the floor. Estel is dripping dirty water onto the rug. I don't know whether to laugh, drag Estel away or let him get an answer to his question, but Father is looking thoroughly annoyed and his attention is turning to us.

"Estel," he says. "You will not speak to your grandmother in that tone of voice. You will leave us now and dry yourself. Elladan, Elrohir - what were you doing? Take your brother away, now!"

But my younger brother, my brave young brother, stands there, head held high, refusing to be diverted from his course.

"I heard you, Papa. You said Spider's name. I want to know why."

I put my hand on his shoulder and he looks up at me. I frown at him.

"Please," Estel says. "I really would like to know," he adds, standing as tall as he can.

When Ivorwen begins to speak, my father leans forward, reaching for her hand, but she will have none of it.

"You named your pony Spider, child. Why?"

"I saw he has a spider's web pattern in his coat, Grandmother. I like spiders. They are clever, and make such pretty webs. When there's dewfall, in the autumn, the tiny fil – filaments are hung with diamonds. And they have eight legs!"

Ivorwen looks at him, then stands, and she is tall and strong despite her age. "They are fell, child. In Mirkwood, they are great beasts that would catch and poison you. They have killed older boys than you. Do you wish your pony to have such a name?"

Estel is faced with a decision he cannot make. He does not know enough to make it, I think. Someone must help him now but again, before I can speak, he is talking to her.

"I didn't know that. I can't imagine how – however would they be big enough? They're so little. I like my pony's name. I want to keep it! Papa!"

I take Estel by the hand but he is resisting me. If he were younger I would carry him away, whatever his protests, but I fear he is too big for that now, and I might not be able to keep him from injuring himself.

Elrohir seems to have no such fear. He reaches forward, catches Estel by the waist and tries to pull him away.

"No!" Estel says, pulling away. "I want to know what I've done wrong! Grandmother!"

"We will speak of it again, Estel. Calm yourself. I will look at this pony myself and we will decide then what must be done. Come – calm down, child, you will make yourself ill." Ivorwen's words sound hollow. She is withdrawing from the trouble she has created.

I can feel Estel's grip on my hand tightening. Elrohir lets him go then takes hold of his other hand.

"Enough!" he says. "That is enough!" My brother's voice is sharp and angry enough to master Estel's fury. The boy finally gives in and comes with us but the anger coursing through him does not subside quickly, and he throws off our hands when he can.

Fortunately, Halbarad has come to find Estel. I wish we had some time with Estel's friend to explain what has happened but Estel has gone with him before we can say anything. He does not even glance back, and the happiness of just a few minutes ago dissipates in the cool wind blowing from the east.

"Let us attend to the horses," Elrohir says, his face as stern as I have ever seen it. "At least we may do that task aright. If we had not chased him …"

"He would have found out, brother. Ivorwen is determined to make this small matter into a great one, and I do not know why. We must speak to Father as soon as we may."

My brother and I passed an unhappy day, though a busy one, for we assisted in the raising of a house for the family. Layers of wool and waterproof material cover the framework of painted poles and wooden walls, and we are leant cooking pots and coverings for the floor. We set out bedrolls for all of us and start a fire, then Father joins us. He is taciturn and his expression is grim.

"Estel?" he says, settling himself down by the fire.

"I will find him," I say. I go out into the gloom, wondering where to look for the two boys when there is a shout, a cry of alarm that quickly runs through the village, sending men to the call armed with bows and swords. We join them, Father running ahead of us, for to be of help to these people comes naturally.

Then Father stops. A man is carrying a boy, who is limp in his arms. Another carries a pup, which is whimpering and crying.

"Estel!" shouts my Father, running forward.

But the boy is too tall to be Estel, and when he is carried into a house and set on a bed, we know it is Halbarad.

"Where is Estel?" I ask, desperate. "He was with Halbarad."

The man who had carried Halbarad says, "We saw sign, my lord. The boy was there. We have already begun to search but we have not found him yet."

My father is gone in a moment, and we follow, snatching up lanterns. My heart fills with dread. Halbarad has been knocked unconscious. When we find the place, the signs say only one thing.

Estel has been taken.


	39. Captain 3

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Back to Estel)

I am going to be brave. I am going to remember everything I have been taught and I am going to be brave. If I take a deep breath, I can concentrate on what this man is telling me.

"Be quiet, you little brat. Stop snivelling," he says, but I am not snivelling. It's raining and my face is wet. I can't help that.

"Why have you tied me up?" My voice sounds a bit quiet but he still heard me. It is hard keeping up with them because they are running very fast but I know Papa and my brothers can run much faster. "I can't run fast with my hands tied."

The man, the fierce, strong man who is holding the rope tied to my wrists grins at me. "Tied nice and tight, you are. I know you. We should have grabbed you last time. If that cursed Elf wants you back, he'll have to pay for you. I have just the place to hide a little rabbit like you. Run!"

I am running, as fast as I can, until I can hardly breath. I didn't know I could run this far. Every bit of me is tired but still I am dragged on until it's too dark to see where we are any more.

Papa. Where are you?

I hope Hú is all right. He's too little to be on his own and I heard him whimpering when they dragged me away. We shouldn't have taken him from his mother but I thought we'd only be a minute or two. Halbarad didn't have a chance to shout or anything. They hit him and then I had a hand over my mouth and though I bit him and kicked him he was too bit for me to fight and he didn't fight fairly anyway.

Halbarad will wake up quickly, or one of my brothers will find him and they will take Hú back his mother. Yes, I am sure that is so. I am going to remember that my name is Estel and I'm going to hope.

At least now I am on a horse and my legs don't hurt so much. But we have come so far. I had something to eat but I don't know what it was. How Papa is going to find us. He is a very good tracker, like me, and he'll do that I'm sure but it has to be light for him to find the tracks and we have been travelling a road and there were lots of tracks for a while. If I could just get my hands a bit loose maybe I could knock this man off the horse somehow and then I could go straight back to Papa and tell him all about my adventure.

I must have been asleep for a minute or two. I can hear a river and now there's a moon, and I can see the light shining on the water. Just over the mountains there's a little bit of light. If Papa was here we could sing the morning song.

We've stopped. That's what woke me up.

"Come on," the man says and he pulls me off the horse. My foot gets stuck in the stirrup and I sort of twist round and he can't pull me off. It hurts, a bit, when he pulls my foot free and then he starts dragging me to the bank of the river. I try to keep quiet but I can't.

"No! Where are we going? We can't go on the river! How will Papa find me?" I shout though my head tells me I need to stop.

He laughs and I don't think I can be brave much longer. I bite my lip and that helps me stop saying stupid things.

"We're not going down that filthy river! I'm going to use it to protect my property, and that's you, maggot. And don't worry about Papa. He's too high and mighty to come chasing after you. Easier for him to pay over some of those jewels he keeps in that big house of his. Go on – over there!"

He pushes me hard and I can't stop myself. I fall on my knees and that really does hurt. But he grabs the back of my coat and pulls me up and then we're headed for the river.

There's a little boat there. It's got some sacks and stuff in it and he drags me on board. It nearly tipples over and while I'm catching my balance he's telling me something.

"You're staying here. Get under there – I put some food and water and a couple of blankets. Don't make a sound and stay out of view. There's no one for miles to help. If your Papa does decide to follow you here and you make a sound, I'll kill him."

I don't understand what he means. If I'm in a boat I can escape! How are they going to stop me if they're not in the boat? And how are they going to kill Papa? I don't believe they can do that.

Then I understand. There is a chain and a circle thing and he is fastening that round my ankle. I try to fight him but he just knocks me down and the next thing I know he's jumping up onto the shore. I shout at him but he's laughing. Then the boat begins to move. He is holding on to another chain and he lets it run through his hands and because of the current and the bend just there, the boat goes out into the middle of the river. It's a fast current and I think it's very deep and I know it's very cold, because the air gets much colder suddenly.

So then I have to sit down. And then I see how they will catch Papa, because one of them is hiding himself and if anyone comes to see about the boat they'll be killed because he has a bow. I can't do anything about it. I'm not big enough yet. Then the shadows get darker and I know I am going to see things that aren't there in a minute and I can't stop it.

I wish and wish for it to go away but then I look at the skin of the river and see things there, people, and animals and – creatures. They are sliding past the boat and looking at me, or looking for me, I don't know which. I reach out to see if they're really there and the water is so cold it burns my hands.

The people there are so odd. They are dressed in armour and they have swords and there are horses too. I want to speak to one and I reach out further and stare down until my eyes start to feel too big in my head. Then I can hear them, and they are shouting and screaming and filling me with all sorts of feelings. I know I am going to fall in but the people begin to fade again and I start to hear the river and the man shouting at me.

I feel ill. The boat moves and shivers when the water moves it and so I lie back and stare up at the stars and wait for my stomach to settle. But I am so tired, after what I saw in the water, and I keep thinking about the vision and hoping that I can fall asleep.

Then I can dream that when I wake up, Hú will be there, or he will have grown up and I'll have to call him Huan. If I think myself away from here now, I can be in a better place. So I am going to try.

It is getting very cold but a little bit lighter. I will not hide. I am going to sit here and wait for Papa.

I am sitting on a blanket and I have wrapped one round me but it is hard to keep from shivering. If Papa started out last night he might find me today. But he can't have followed me all night. Perhaps by the end of the day.

The sound of the water running is good to hear. I have always loved the music of water and I begin to hum to it. Hú will be with his mother and perhaps she is licking him or something. I wonder when I'll see Mother again.

The last star still shows in the sky. I'm not really scared any more. I'm going to wait here and when Papa comes, I'm going to shout out and save him, and no man is going to stop me.


	40. Captain 4

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Elladan)

I can smell the river on the air, a clean, sharp tang to it. My brother, just ahead of me, turns, his finger on his lips. We are as quiet as we have learned to be but I have stepped on something, and a dry crackle makes us both frown. Now, above all now, we must not be seen.

We have planned with what little knowledge we could gather. The dogs tracked all night, their tongues out, their long legs carrying them across the land and back and we followed, Father hard on the heels of the dogs. Our torches flared light on the tree trunks, throwing shadows all round us.

At daybreak, Father paused, calling the dogs to him. A message waited for us, just an arrow in stones, though we needed no guidance. Elrohir kneeled and ran his hand over the stones, as if they held a message he could feel. Father told us what he would do and we nodded. We did not even say Estel's name, for he is well until we put into words that we might not be able to bring him home this time.

Now I can no longer see Father but I know Elrohir can. My brother stands on the lowest branch of the tree, hand to his brow, shading his eyes, while I wait below. Then, in whispers, Elrohir tells me: Father walks forward; there is a meeting; Father is demanding but the man he speaks to walks away and Father stands, watching him go. The dogs pull at their leash but Father holds them back. Three men with bows pulled, arrows nocked, stand not twenty yards away from him.

Elrohir is searching for any sight of Estel but he shakes his head when I touch his foot, reminding him that I need information. My brother climbs higher and I follow him, up on the smooth branches of the tree. We scan the countryside, see three more men crouched round a fire, another four on guard. They will not look for us. Two Rangers, wearing our coats, stand in for us with Father. It is a simple ruse but it seems to have worked.

From the top of the tree, we can see the hills ascending into the sky and the far mountains, heads in the clouds.

"Where is he?" my brother whispers, desperation in his face. He moves further out along the branch, which dips alarmingly and I reach up to steady him. He is looking out across the water meadows. Suddenly he stiffens.

"There!" he says. "There! Elladan!" He leans and points and I see, dark on the shining water, a boat, and a small figure hunched in it.

He faces us. I wish for some means of showing him we are here but we cannot break cover. Elrohir has other ideas. He snaps a small dead branch from the tree and throws it at three crows that are observing us suspiciously. They complain and flap away, awkward and loud in their haste to escape and Estel looks up, drawn as ever to observe the natural world. Elrohir waves, desperately close now to falling from the tree and Estel responds, a small movement of his hands, so that we see he is chained to the boat.

We climb down and hasten away, Elrohir leading again, until we can slip down the riverbank and shelter there, hidden from the land. The boat is around two bends in the river and Father is far away but we are free and we must make our own plan to rescue Estel.

"One of us must cross the river," I say. "We could swim out to him and cut him free."

"He will not be able to swim in this flood, Brother," Elrohir replies. "And how will we reach him unseen? They will be watching for that."

He is right but for a while I cannot think of anything else to do. They are too many to take by surprise and Father may still be there, watched and guarded.

"What do they want?" Elrohir asks. "Why have they taken Estel?"

"Do you not know them? We met them earlier – by the waterfall, remember? At the least, they will know Estel is under Father's protection. I would guess they are hoping for riches for his release. Father will have to send to Imladris and I do not know how he will do that," I say, trying to puzzle out what is happening.

"He will send one of us – one of our imposters, at least. Will he not? That is all he can, for surely he knows where Estel is by now. Our brother cannot live long out there – he has no food, no water that I could see. It is too cold for him to live!" Elrohir clasps the hilt of his sword as if preparing for immediate battle.

The water laps at our feet. Cold air breathes from it. Elrohir is right. This folly will end in Estel's death before help can be brought. We must find another way.

I look around for some inspiration. "We must remove Estel from this place. Father and the Rangers cannot be our concern. My brother is going to die if we leave him there."

Then it comes to me, half a thought, a moment in which I grab Elrohir's arm. "We will float down to him. You will make pretence of loosing the boat and I will take Estel into the water. But we will be hidden. What more natural in this river in spate than a tree trunk, or a mass of brush, torn from the bank?" And as I speak, I am looking for what may be washed up against the shore, or in the shallows.

Elrohir pauses, then nods. "Yes. It may be that we can do this, together. I can see no other way."

We work quickly, now that we have found a way forward. We gather many branches, some large, some with twigs and leaves still clinging to them, and we bind them together as best we may. Elrohir hides his bow and quiver among the brush; I shall keep my quiver slung over my back, and my bow in my hand. We have knives but we must leave our swords and hope to return for them, for they will weigh too heavy. We shall not be fighting in close quarters if we are successful.

We slip into the water, hiding in the middle of our craft, keeping our heads above water as long as we can, then dipping under as we round the last bend. There, in our path, is our brother. In the last second I see him look suspiciously at this driftwood raft of ours.

The moment raft and boat touch, I swim to the far side of the boat and then up, hauling myself from the water, reaching for Estel.

"I am chained!" he says, and I pull on the staple to which his chain is attached. My brother finds another chain attaching boat to shore but his job is to distract, and he is soon firing arrows up onto the bank. There are shouts and cries, then there are arrows slicing the air around us. I pull with all my strength and it is the wood that gives, not the metal, as it splinters around the ill-driven staple. With a final heave, I free Estel, grab him and topple us both into the water.

We go under and Estel is slipping from my grasp, heavy with water and clumsy with shock. But I reach for the branches as they slide along the boat and I manage to hold them. Estel is limp now, no longer fighting his surprise and I wait and wait until I have to breathe. I hope we are far enough away and surface, pulling Estel with me and then helping him to grasp onto the largest branch. He hauls himself out of the water and I know at least he will not be swept downriver.

Perhaps it is as well that we have rehearsed this once, I think ruefully.

He coughs up water, then pushes his hair away from his face so that he can look at me.

"Elladan!" he says. "Are we safe now?"

I paddle on, trying to push us to the opposite bank, where at least I may keep Estel safer and in hiding. I search for some sign of Elrohir but I can see nothing from so low in the water. Sounds carry across the water and Estel begins to look around him.

"Papa!" he says.

"Can you see him, Estel?" I ask, my feet beginning to touch firm ground.

"No. Where is he? Where is Elrohir?"

"Keep down, child," I say. "We are still not far enough away!" But there are no more arrows, and when I finally manage to drag Estel up the bank and into the trees, I am certain we have not been seen, or that the enemy has been defeated and we are no longer in danger.

Estel, frozen, still coughing up water, clings to me. I have no cloak to wrap him in, and no means of making fire or desire to reveal our whereabouts just yet, so I can only try to keep him warm.

"That was quite an adventure, Estel," I say, trying to soothe him. "You seem to get into trouble every time you come near water."

I can feel him nod but I am becoming concerned for he is drowsy, no longer shivering, and I must do more to warm him. If I had only gone to the other bank, I could have worked back to where we left our cloaks and blankets. Perhaps I made the wrong choice.

"I cannot make a fire yet," I say. "We must wait for a signal from Father. I am sure he will come to find us soon."

He nods again and I chafe his hands and try to keep him awake, telling him how brave he has been, how warm he will be soon, but I can find nothing to stop him dozing. Then I remember his puppy.

"Your pup is well," I say. "He is safely back with his mother."

"Did she lick him? He likes her licking him, I think. He is called Hú."

"You have called him Hú?" I ask, sitting him more upright, now that I have his attention. The sun comes out and the world fills with colour, in the browns and greens of the reeds, and the fresh new leaves shivering in the aspens. It seems to release him from the torpor into which he had fallen.

"He will be Húan when he grows up."

Of course he will, Estel, I think. Húan. Great hound. Estel's protector, he will be. For even now, as a puppy all unknowing, he is giving Estel new heart. My brother moves and looks about him, then suddenly all his troubles overwhelm him and he buries his face in my shoulder. I hold him tight and wish I had gone to the other shore.


	41. Captain 5

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Humble apologies for the delay – it's tough work, this writing business! I do hope this is worth waiting for.)

Estel and I stand on the bank of the river, gazing across the silver water and trying to make out what is happening.

He tugs at my sleeve and looks up at me, his grey eyes full of the light of his excitement.

"Legolas!" he says and points to the tall figure standing on a rock on the riverbank.

"Yes," I say, and I wave and receive an answering wave from Legolas. Then the prince holds up his bow and one hand, extended palm outward to us. "Stand still," I interpret, putting my arm round Estel's shoulders. "He is going to shoot a line over for us."

Estel looks puzzled but he does as he is told. An arrow with a thin line attached streaks across the water and buries itself in the soft bank just to my right.

"How?" says Estel, leaping over to the arrow.

"Don't touch it!" I tell him, reaching out for the line before Estel can dislodge the arrow. "Now – help me pull."

He watches as I clasp the line and begin to pull it across the river, hand over hand, while Legolas holds it up and tries to keep it out of the water. Estel sees what needs to be done and helps as much as he can, pulling harder when the thin line begins to draw a thicker line after it. This one sags into the water and quickly becomes heavier but we continue to pull it.

Estel digs in, dragging the heavy rope and now the chain which had tied the boat to the shore. The boat, running free in the water for a while, slips downstream and then stops as we finally begin to pull it to our side.

"Careful, Estel," I say. "Let the boat find its way. We must not drag it under."

If nothing else, we are both warm now with this exercise. Estel is breathing hard but is still pulling and the craft moves towards us.

"Not long now!" I encourage him. Legolas is watching us from the other bank.

"A little early to go swimming," he shouts, and his voice is thin against the music of the water.

Estel grins then reaches for the bow of the craft, pulling it close to the bank then leaping nimbly in.

"Come on, Elladan! I'm hungry!" he says, though he is eyeing the water suspiciously. "This'll be easy!"

I grab my bow, pull Legolas' arrow from the bank and send it back to him, line and all. I wonder if he is strong enough to pull the boat and both of us, then I see he does not intend to. He fastens the line to his horse's saddlehorn and we are dragged quickly across the water, the boat again swinging downstream with the current but securely anchored to the other shore.

Estel sits hunched in the middle of the boat and will not look at the water, his momentary bravado evaporating. I am preoccupied with keeping the craft balanced against the movement of the water and cannot ask him what is wrong. He is cold, wet and hungry – those must be the reasons for his mournful expression.

"Well now! Two drowned rats!" Legolas says cheerfully enough, though his expression belies his tone of voice. He helps Estel up the bank. "I suppose you'll be wanting dry clothes, a fire and some food now?"

"Yes, please," says Estel, looking hopefully at his friend.

Legolas smiles gently. "In a little while," he says. "First, let us go and assist your Papa."

I notice Legolas laying his bow aside so I follow suit, taking care that Estel does not see what we are doing. He runs ahead of us but his tiredness nearly betrays him as he trips and falls full length in the grass. He is up again immediately, glancing back to see if his accident has been noticed and we pretend we were talking to each other and saw nothing.

"What has happened?" I ask Legolas. "Why are you here?"

"I returned to the Ranger encampment this morning, for I wished to see that all was well with Halbarad. I was told what happened and followed as swiftly as I could."

"Is Father still in danger?"

"I could not help him until I rescued you. I would have told you to leave Estel on the other bank but he would not be safe there. We are watched, Elladan."

I know it. I can feel their presence. "Then we are walking into a trap."

"No," says Legolas firmly. "There is a trap, but it is not for us. But it is dangerous. Do you wish to try it, to save Elrond, or do you wish to turn away and take Estel to safety?"

"I cannot do that, if we are watched. He must stay with us and we must keep him close," I say, and Legolas nods.

"I did not wish to frighten the boy. I did not know what he would do."

"Estel!" I shout and he halts, turning back.

"What?" he calls, impatience in every line of his body.

"Come here!"

He doesn't move but at least he is waiting for us to catch up.

"What is it?" he says.

I had hoped to come up with some innocent reason for keeping him with us but none immediately presents itself. It is fortunate Legolas has more wit than I.

"A good soldier always scouts the situation and proceeds with caution."

"Do they?" Estel asks, narrowing his eyes. "I thought a good soldier should bravely face the enemy and go to meet them and fight them as best he can."

"Not always," says Legolas firmly. "Now, tell me what you can see."

So Estel, still looking somewhat puzzled by the latest information about being a soldier, looks around him and listens.

"I can hear a dog growling," he says at last. "But I can't see anything."

"Move forward, then. Slowly."

With a hand on his back to guide him, Estel moves forward, Legolas on his heels, ready to hold him back if necessary.

"I can see Papa," he whispers suddenly. I take a step forward and kneel by his side, taking hold of his arm so that he will not run to him. Then see Father standing in the middle of the clearing, the hounds at his feet.

"Yes. Look – he may not move," I tell him, pointing to the four men whose bows are ready to draw.

"But it's all right, isn't it, now that you've rescued me. Isn't it? They'll let him go, won't they?"

Legolas puts his finger to his lips. We are being approached. Two men only, with no bows but with swords drawn.

"You found them, elf," one says. "Good. Go on, join the master of Rivendell," he says, contempt in his voice. "Then get ready to do some bargaining for your life. Your father should pay something for you, I reckon."

I put my hand firmly on Estel's shoulder, warning him quickly to say nothing, and we walk forward.

"Be ready," whispers Legolas, as if I have forgotten that we are in grave danger.

"Quiet!" says the other man, a broad, well-muscled figure in clothes which reek of neglect.

Estel's pace quickens but I will not let him go. His eyes are fixed on Father, who has turned to him.

"Stay there!" Father shouts, and it is enough to set events in motion.

One of the men holding Father raises his bow and Father kneels suddenly, commanding Ivorwen's hounds as he does. The great animals leap, the arrow goes astray and then Legolas is running forward with a great cry and engaging one of the other bowmen, dispatching him quickly. He still has two to contend with and so do I, which takes my attention away from Legolas and my father.

"Stay close, brother," I say and he nods. He is breathing hard.

One man hits out at me while the other tries to grab Estel. I take a hard blow to the forearm while I try to pull Estel behind me. He is standing as close as he can, hampering my movements but obeying me.

I reach forward and grab my opponent's wrist, twist and watch his hand open. The sword falls point first to the ground.

"Elladan!" Estel shouts, clutching me. "Stop him!" He is being pulled from my side and is holding desperately to my belt.

Distracted, I try to hit the man who is holding Estel by his left arm and using all his weight to pull at my brother. I reach down for the dropped sword, my only defence, but in that moment Estel can no longer hold on and falls back, shouting and fighting against his new captivity.

"Let him go!" I shout. "Let him go!"

But the man puts his arm round Estel's arms and chest, and squeezes until my brother is silent and still.

"I'm keeping him," he says, backing away. My brother makes it as difficult as he can but he is no match for the man whose desperation shows in his face. He is becoming reckless.

"No!" shouts Estel, kicking back with one foot and trying to squirm free.

Then I am felled with a blow from behind and my sight fades for a moment as I hit the ground. I fight to stay awake and roll, getting my feet tangled in the feet of my attacker. He falls and I punch him. His head lolls.

I turn and see Estel being dragged further. He is limp now, and the man hoists him over one shoulder and prepares to run into the thick woodland.

"Legolas!" I shout, setting off after the man. "Legolas!" But he is no-where to be seen, though I can hear cries and the noise of battle as I shake my head to clear the fog from my mind.

I run hard and yet for a moment, the man I am chasing is lost to me amongst the pale trunks of the spring-green trees. I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. There is no one to help me. I cannot see my brother, I cannot hear him yet the track of broken ground is clear. 

No matter how far I must run, I will follow this man and I will reclaim my brother, though all the evil in the world stands between us.

I follow, eyes on the footprints, the broken twigs, the trail of destruction and I see Estel, as at the end of a tunnel, giddy, terrified, too young for so much adventure.   
Then, for a moment, renewed hope. The hounds come up to me, silent and stern, and I know that my father has sent them to me.

The chase begins.


	42. Captain 6

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Feedback, as usual, greatly appreciated, and any comments on the style of the writing in this part very welcome – though all comments are of course equally welcome. But I do worry about Estel's sections!)

Estel

I don't like being bumped along on this man's back. I feel sick. I might just be sick but I don't think he'd notice.

My head is swimmy, and the ground is a long way away. But I can see he's leaving a big track that a blind man could follow, and I think Elladan will come after me. I feel silly. This is the second time in two days. I have to learn to defend myself better. When I grow up I'm not going to let anyone take me prisoner, not anyone.

Suddenly the bumping stops. The man takes me in his arms and throws me to someone else, who slings me up over his shoulder. This one smells even worse.

"Hey!" I say, wanting this to stop. I really would be sick if I had anything in me at all, which I don't.

"Shut up," comes the reply, so I kick him, hard, until he does stop. He stands me on a rock.

"Look, boy. I'm doing you a favour. I could kill you now but I think we'd get something for you. I'm taking you to the camp. You can have some food then. So stop whining, otherwise I'll make you run too."

"I want to run!" I say. "I want to run that way." I point, and the man follows my hand and I jump the other way. It's a trick I learned to play on my brothers and it worked, for a little while, anyway. Enough for me to leave my own tracks, and the man was too stupid to notice. He could easily have just stamped all over my footprints but I don't think he thought of that.

"Right. I'm tying you. And you'd better not shout otherwise I'll gag you. Got it?"

He has his hands round my throat so that all I can do is nod. I can't wait to be bigger. Being small is annoying me.

I'm choking so he takes his big hand away and ties my arms behind my back and my legs together. I want to be sick again and I want to know where Papa and my brothers are, but I'm not going to ask. I am worth something to this man so I think I'll be safe for the moment. I hope.

It seems like hours before I'm put back on my feet. My legs have gone numb and I can't stand up, and when I fall over, people there laugh at me but I just look at them. There are lots of people, ladies and children and men, and some dogs and chickens. It's like my – like the Rangers' village only it's not clean and laid out with neat tracks and they're all standing near one big fire. They don't seem to have fires for each family. There's something cooking, I can smell it.

The man who carried me has untied my legs and arms, then ties my hands in front of me. Then he runs a rope from my wrists to a peg in the ground. I saw a pig tied up once. I feel like the pig.

"Here. Eat this," someone says, and I try to hold the plate they give me, which is not easy because of my tied hands. It's like a stew, pieces of meat and gravy or something.

"I can't," I say, meaning well, I can't just put my face in the stew and eat it, can I? Only he doesn't take it that way, and he just takes it and throws it away. A couple of the dogs are happy, anyway. My stomach is growling.

"Give the boy something to drink," someone says. I look up and see a young lady and she's holding out a cup of water.

"Give it to him yourself," the man says and so I get some water. And I'm close enough to the fire to keep warm even when the light begins to fade and all the big landscape around us gets dark and goes away.

And still no Elladan or Legolas or Papa.

I would like to have a big feast. It's very cold now and the stars are sparkly in the sky, which doesn't have a single cloud in it, not one. I think it's going to be frosty in the morning. Someone gave me a blanket and I am sitting on it because I remember Elrohir says to keep off the ground. The fire has died down a bit but it's not too bad for warmth. I think my clothes are dry now, too. So if I could just sit at a long table, with lots of people there, and Glorfindel telling us a story and me with my plate filled with good things to eat, then I could be happy.

Or I could be in Grandmother's house, and Hú could be playing with me, perhaps a tugging game if I could find an old piece of rope or something. Halbarad would be there too and he and I could plan something, like defending the village or something like that. I wonder if he would let me lead the last soldiers. The ones who would be noble and die bravely.

The stars look really far away tonight. Papa was teaching me some names but I can't remember any of them now. They just look like cold bits of fire, thrown up there into the air, and they don't have any pattern than I can see. But Papa says – Papa says. Where is Papa?

It must be close to morning by now. I have been trying to work my hands out of the rope but it's not working very well. I pulled a big log over and put it carefully onto the fire so that it wouldn't go out or anything, and now I am waiting for it to catch properly. I am standing now with the blanket round me and I suppose I am doing a little dancing around to keep warm because this boy, who was taller than me and who should have been in bed came up to me and said something silly. He asked if my britches were on fire.

I didn't know what to say. If Elladan had said that, or Elrohir I would laugh and pretend they were and then rush around and do something like sit in a puddle or something, or at least I would have done when I was little.

But what do I say to the boy who is laughing at me? I do the only thing I can think of and I run at him, head down, and catch him in the stomach. He ends up on his back and he isn't happy with that so he starts kicking me and then he's yelling and people come running and separate us.

Someone washes my face and brings me another blanket and tries to say nice things. It surprises me. I didn't know bad people can be kind as well as good people. But they don't do it the way Papa does.

This time they make someone guard me, though there's a lot said about me being a boy and not clever enough to get away but I don't take any notice. So this big man sits down quite near me and looks at me as if I'm the very worst thing he can think of. And I just try to think of days playing by the shiny river that sings to me, and the elves who keep me company sometimes, and sit in the trees and sing happy songs and silly ones sometimes. It feels as though, for once, I am having a good vision instead of one I don't understand and don't like. That one in the river, with the faces in there. I didn't like that one at all.

In the very early morning, when the very faintest light in the sky begins, just as my belly has given up hope of ever, ever, ever getting anything in it ever again, I hear something. I don't know quite what it is, maybe a snuffling sound, then I hear them plainly, paws running on the ground, and suddenly I'm being licked and there's a big, hairy dog standing right by me. I put my arms over his back, and wonder if it's Keeper or a dog from the camp but I am pleased to have the company.

There is a noise, a grunt, a noise as something heavy hits the ground. I think it must have been the guard.

"Keep still, little brother. Be quiet!"

It's Elladan! It really is Elladan! He done something and the rope tethering me goes slack. "Come on! Run as fast as you've ever run in your life!"

So I do, and as quietly as I can as well and I try not to trip over the rope which keeps hitting me in the shins and I feel a bit giddy but I still run, listening out for my big brother. The dogs are running with me, right by my side, and I want to stop and hug them both because they found me, I know they did.

"Elladan," I say, trying to draw breath. "I can't run much more!"

"I know, Estel! Just a little more!"

And it really is just a little more, then Elladan stops.

And I run to him, because I can see him a little now, and he hugs me close and then lifts me up and starts me climbing into a tree.

"Climb, Estel! It is a yew and it'll hide you. Go on! And whatever you do, stay there!"

When I get settled on a branch, I see that Elladan has been watching me. Then he lays his hands on the trunk of the tree and says something, but I am not sure what. He smiles at me and waves, and I wave back, not asking him to stay because I know he knows what he is doing. Even though I really want him to stay.

Then my brother begins to run again, keeping the dogs close by him and I have to watch him get smaller and smaller until he disappears, suddenly, as if he's been swallowed up by the trees. Snap, and he's gone.


	43. Captain 7

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

I wish Elladan had had some food with him. I can see some nuts on a bush just over there but I was told to stay here. Here is hungry, there is food. My belly rumbling is going to give me away. I bet I am scaring the birds for miles. I have to eat.

There are some beautiful, shiny berries here. They're like – I don't know what they're like. They're red and sort of squashy and milky. And they don't weigh much. If I get a good handful together it'll be better than nothing.

"No, boy."

I grab the branch and drop the berries and they tumble away though I try to grab them.

"My fruit is not for you, boy."

The voice is slow and deep and I can't see anyone around at all. If I have a vision now my chances of staying in the tree aren't very good. But the words feel as though they're coming from inside me.

"Who are you?" I say, but I don't expect an answer.

"Do you not know, boy? Your brother woke me before he pushed you up into my branches for safekeeping. And if you don't stop wriggling about you're going to be on the ground, little one."

"Who are you?" I say again. I've never had a conversation with a tree before.

"I am the tree your brother planted to replace the branches he took from my father when they had great need of bows. When I was younger, but, I judge many years older than you, Legolas woke me."

"Legolas!"

"Oh yes, Legolas. He and I are old friends."

"How old are you? When did Elladan plant you?" I am not sure if I am being rude but I really want to know.

"I am told that I am a thousand years old. Elladan came last year and spoke to me of it. I do not remember. I dream, you see. I am here, and I dream, and then the years flood past my reckoning."

I see time, a long, long river of time and me a small speck in the river. I don't know what to say.

"Now – I believe there will be a battle here soon. I believe that your father and these men who are befouling the water and cutting wood where they please will fight each other. That is what Elladan said. So I have charge of you. May I ask, what is your name? He did not have time to tell me. His talk was too quick and full of swords and arrows."

"Estel," I say, and stand up on the branch. "At your service." And I bow. Papa would be proud of me.

"Ah! So you are Estel! Well now."

"Have you heard of me?" Maybe I am not a speck after all. Maybe I am more than that.

"I heard all about you last year. How small you are and how you keep everyone smiling. That is no small thing, Estel. The brothers have been angry since their mother went away. I think Elladan forgets to be angry when you are with him. Elrohir. I am not sure of Elrohir's feelings."

"He is often cross with me," I admit. "Though he does his best not to be. I – I ran away and I think Elrohir wanted very much to tell me off but Papa didn't let him."

The little sharp, dark needles seem to quiver for a moment and the sun goes in. I thought I would be cold but it seems warm in the branches of this tree.

"Do you have a name?" I ask.

"I had one once," he says. "It is very long. Each year, it has become longer. You may call me Aldalómë, for I am dark and I am a tree."

"All right. Thank you for helping me," I remember to say.

"I think you have not noticed something," Aldalómë says.

I look around but cannot see anything.

"On the lowest branches A bag. A small bag. I think it has in it something that will make you feel much better."

I move very carefully downwards and grab it and find in it – bread! Cheese! And an apple!

I try to remember my manners but I am too hungry. My new friend is laughing.

"Perhaps if you ate more slowly," he suggested, "you would not keep choking."

I take his advice and get along better.

Suddenly, the yew tree whispers, "Be still, child!" and I freeze. "The enemy is close. But your brother is closer. See – here he comes!"

"Is he coming to get me?"

I look around and there is Elladan, with Legolas running just behind him, so that he'd step on his heels if my brother stopped. And there is Papa, too! I want to call out to him but the tree said to be quiet. I cling tighter to the trunk, wrapping my arms around it and I watch as they come closer, both dogs bounding along through the tall grasses. I'm going to see them fight!

There are shouts and I turn. I see the men who caught me running straight at my family and I want to yell to them, to warm them.

"They know, Estel. Hush," Aldalómë whispers and I turn again to see Papa choose a place, not far away, on the top of a little mound. He has a sword with him but it is not his own. It is short. He is practising with it, waving it about and stabbing with it. Legolas is standing right by him, turned to the side and Elladan is the same on the other side. They are talking to one another but I cannot hear anything.

"They are well prepared, child," Aldalómë says. "Do not be afraid for them."

I am not afraid, not exactly. My heart is beating fast and I want to join in with them. Elladan has spoken to Papa, and Papa has nodded and now the men are there, too many men and I can't see what's happening.

I jump up and down on the branch, wanting so much to go and help.

"Be careful!" Aldalómë says, louder now, but I slip anyway, and only just manage to catch hold of a branch. "Stand still!" he says and he sounds cross. I grab hold of the trunk again and try to be quiet.

But as the fight goes on, I close my eyes. I don't want to see it any more. I see in my head the ladies and children at the camp and I know they will be crying for the men who are falling to the ground now. I don't want them to keep pushing forward on Papa and my brother and Legolas because the bad men are dying and Papa might be hurt.

He's fallen to his knees! I can't help it, I have to shout.

"Papa!"

"He will be well, my boy. Look, he is back on his feet now," Aldalómë says, and he's not cross any more. They're fighting over me. They mustn't do it any more but what can I do to stop them?

I shout, no longer afraid of being heard because the noise of the fight is drowning me out. "I can't stop them! Can you do it?"

"You cannot stop them, Estel. They are set on it now. Be like telling a river not to run. Stay here. It'll be over before you know it."

"But they'll die!"

"Watch, Estel. Watch patiently!"

But I cannot, and before Aldalómë can say anything I am out of the tree and running. I must stop them!

I run between the men, crawl under them, see only Papa and Legolas and Elladan and I run right to them.

"Stop!" I am shouting, though something in my head says I am not doing this right. But something stronger says I cannot let this go on.

"Hold!" shouts Papa in a very loud voice, louder than I have ever heard. "Hold!"

I run to him and grab hold of him. "Papa! Make them stop! I don't want any more of them to die!"

Then the world goes dark around me and I can't feel anything any more except that I am holding on to Papa.

"Estel." That's Papa. Everything around us is quiet. "We are going to move now. Come with me. And do not, ever again, under any circumstances, leave my side. Do you understand me?"

I nod because that seems the right thing to do, although I am not sure if he is really angry or sort of joking with me. But I don't think it's going to be any use protesting, or asking questions. But he can't mean, never, can he? Can he?


	44. Captain 8

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Elrond.

We are in an impossible situation. I put Estel behind me and back away, trying to control the power of my anger with my son. So foolish. So dangerously foolish.

"Why did you not stay in the tree?" I say, or perhaps I hiss at him.

I can feel my little son clutch my tunic but he says nothing. Elladan looks at me, his eyes wide. Perhaps he thinks we are safe, but we are not.

The men, re-grouping, come cautiously closer but I continue to retreat. Legolas breaks away, takes a place wide to my right and I see he has nocked an arrow.

"Do you want the boy so badly that you will risk death for him?" I ask, with as much bravado as I can muster.

"Papa!" I hear behind me. I can spare him no pity; my anger burns brightly.

One man steps forward.

"Where are you going, old one?" he says. "Are you planning to walk into the river and float away? The little one might drown if you do."

I take a few more steps back, forcing Estel back too. And yes, I wonder where we are going.

We have one hope but that is still faint. I must begin the slaughter if they do not leave us alone. I give an order to Legolas and he nods.

"What did you say to him?" the leader demands. He is holding his arm and his hand is bloody.

"You cannot take the boy. You will all die, and you will not have what you want," I say, trying to reason with men who have gone past such tactics.

"We outnumber you ten to one. You think this elf can nock arrows fast enough to kill us all? I have bowmen too. We could kill you now."

"What will the boy be worth if we are gone? He is my foster son but beyond that, he is just a small boy, of no consequence to anyone."

At this, the man looks puzzled. Perhaps if I can buy us just a little more time.

"Then we will kill the one who keeps so close to you." It has not taken him long to consider his answer and before I can think of my own reply an arrow flies. Elladan steps aside hastily and the arrow narrowly misses him.

"I have men behind you. Do you want them to make you dance?"

Elladan turns. "I can see only two, Father," he whispers.

"They are barely five to one, not the ten to one he boasts," I say but I know it is enough. "Come, child. Stand in front of me. Why did you leave the tree?" It is not the time to ask but he needs something to occupy him. He is shaking so badly I fear he will not be able to remain on his feet.

He stands in front of me and I pull him closer, holding him by his shoulders.

"I got us into a lot of trouble, didn't I, Papa," he says.

"Our position is not strong, my child. But I believe it will be stronger soon. There, do you hear them?"

I feel him tense as he tries to concentrate. The fear leaves him a little when he hears the sound I have been hearing for a few minutes now.

"It's the hounds, Papa! Where are they?"

"They bring help, Estel. When I tell you, make yourself as small as you can and stay where you are. Do you understand?

"Stop speaking that gibberish!" our enemy calls. He is moving forward now, and Legolas responds by drawing his bow, waiting for my signal.

"I will tell you what I said in the common tongue, if you wish, but my boy speaks better Sindarin and I wished him to understand me. I told him to make himself small and to stay where he was. Do you know why I said that?" I do not like this parleying. I prefer straight talk. But this is necessary, for a few more moments.

"No. I neither know nor care. Now hand him over, or we will kill your companions, then you. Someone will pay something for him. Perhaps the dangerous old woman who lives over the mountains. They say she is some relation of yours. We use her to frighten children into behaving themselves."

He may talk himself to death, this one. It angers me to hear him speak of Galadriel in this way, but that is his intention. I must not allow my anger to lead me into error. I know Estel does not wish it, but it is not his choice. If men choose to die, who am I to stop them? I cannot make men do things they choose not to do. Since Isildur would not do as I told him, I have never tried to force men onto the right path.

There – a movement in the trees, and it begins. Time slows. Each movement I see, as I try to protect Estel.

The hounds leap into the open, splitting from each other and tracking two men, taking them down soundlessly. Behind them, Elrohir, a short bow in his hand, not his own, but he uses it to deadly effect and the man who had been so intent on having what he wanted has death handed to him. He falls, and I push Estel to the ground.

"Stay there!" I say, waiting for the assault and watching as one man, then another, comes to test my skill with a sword. I am hurt but I am not disabled from battle, and they stagger away, having learned what it is to face me. I glance at Legolas, now putting his bow to the ground, and I see two men with arrows in their chests. Now he too is fighting at close quarters, three men against him, but they will not survive the encounter. They do not understand what it is to face the Prince of Mirkwood. None of them understands what they do, yet they have had enough chances to learn.

Estel is curled at my feet, his face hidden by his arms, and I kneel to him and place my hand on his back. To my left, Elladan is standing, breathing hard, one man at his feet, another close by. Yet still they come, more and still more to this awful place, and I must stand and fight until only a few are left. The air still rings with their cries, and with the sound of metal on metal when the last few regard us. Sun glints off leaves splashed with blood.

Estel was right, in a way. The attack was futile, though we did not invite it and would have avoided it, if we could have done. What is it that has made them so determined? Are they so impoverished, or so desperate for wealth, that they would risk death to take Estel?

I lean on my sword, not so much tired as filled with despair for the race of men.

"Will you give me leave to take my son home now?" I ask, bitterness in my speech such as I have not felt since Celebrían was brought home to me. I hear Elladan breathing heavily, and Estel's sobs. He sounds as he did when his mother left him alone, two long years ago.

"Aye, we will let you," calls one man, who has been lingering near the back of the assault. His clothes are finer than the rest and I deem him the leader of the group. "These men are a small number of my people. Take your boy home and keep him safe, Elrond Peredhil, for we will be watching for him always. There are some who say you keep a great treasure in Imladris, and I shall have it from you yet."

Then he turns and walks into the trees, and the men who are still whole help the wounded away.

Elrohir comes hurrying to us, whistling up the hounds as he does. He is tired, and his clothes are wet. A bruise on the side of his forehead tells me why he did not come back to us sooner, but he seems well. I am feeling more tired now, for the blood I have lost is stealing my strength.

The brothers shake hands, then Elrohir begins to bind his brother's arm. It is not a bad wound but it is bleeding. Legolas, who had run after the retreating men, comes back to us. He is unscathed but his expression is dark.

"They are leaving but we must return to safety as soon as we can. The Rangers who came with us have gone to fetch the tethered horses. As soon as we may, we must be away from this evil place."

I take Estel's arm and encourage him to sit up. He will not meet my eye, nor will he speak to me. He needs comfort, but the fight lingers in my blood and I cannot forget the moment he broke from safety and ran into the heart of danger.

"Estel. Come now. We will soon be back in the camp. Or we will go home. Which do you wish?"

But he will not answer, and stands, the tears coursing down his face, though he is silent now. There is something disturbing him greatly, something beyond his power to control, and I am afraid he is lost once again to a vision. But then he looks up at me, his eyes bright with conflicting emotions.

"I wanted to stop it, Papa," he says, quietly. "I wanted to stop it and look!" Now his voice grows louder, and he steps away from me. "I don't understand why it couldn't be stopped! Always and always, I do things wrong and people die! I wish – I wish I had stayed in the tree, but then I could not. I don't understand! I don't understand!"

He is frantic now, and jumps away from me when I try to reach him. He runs to one of the bodies of the men who died trying to take the greatest treasure in Imladris, which, if they did but know it, is this small boy, staring down into the face of death.

"Wake up!" he shouts, his voice becoming harsher. "Wake up! Why did you have to die? I want to know!"

It is Legolas who moves to his side and takes his hand, gently speaking to him, then leading him away. I see where he is being taken – back to the tree where he had been hiding. There, Legolas lays his hand on the tree and suddenly, Estel hugs the trunk, and is quiet.

"Aldalómë consented to speak to the boy," Elladan said. "I hoped he would be able to keep him safe. But it seems none of us can keep him entirely safe. What are we to do, Father? Take him back to his Ranger family? He still needs to be healed by them, or his visions will consume him. Back to Imladris? We could try to cure him there."

The world is beginning to fade. I am weaker now, and I reach out for Elladan, whose questions puzzle me, for I have no answer.

I hear his hushed, "Father!" then sink to the ground. I am not lucky today. Estel sees me and comes rushing back. His face is black and tear-streaked and now he is scared again.

"Papa!" he says, and falls to his knees in front of me. "They hurt you! I can feel it!" And he puts his hand to my side, where the arrow entered me, oh, some time ago now. I know he must not do this, for he will try to heal me.

So I push him away, with an angry, "No!" and I watch his expression, his hurt, his shock.

"Take care of him," I say to my twin boys, my firstborn, then I yield to the dark.


	45. Captain 9

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

Elrond

"Come, old friend."

The voice is familiar. I begin to surface.

"Come now. Your son needs you. It is time to return to us, Master Elrond."

Sight returns to my eyes. I feel the bed beneath me, the weight of the covers; I smell the food at the fireplace, touch the soft woollen blanket beneath my fingers. I come back to the world.

"There now. See. All is well."

It is Gandalf speaking. I turn my head and see my old friend, sitting close by in a large upright chair. Between his knees stands Estel, mouth open, eyes wide, listening to Gandalf's words. Gandalf has his hands on his shoulders, restraining the boy.

"May I – may I …" Estel breathes and Gandalf, knowing what is being asked, guides him forward.

"Be careful now. Do not touch him."

And I know that warning is not simply to protect my injury, which I can still feel at my side. They must have kept Estel from me to keep him from trying to heal me. His gift is a perilous one.

"I won't," Estel says quietly, then, as his promise is given, Gandalf releases him and he comes to stand by the bed. Behind him, a great hound stirs and looks at us both.

"Estel," I say, my voice a shadow. "Come, child, sit here with me and tell me all that has happened." I reach out a hand to him, a hand that does not yet seem quite attached to me. I went far away, for too long. Someone has called me back.

Estel sits on the edge of the bed most carefully. The hound gets up and comes to stand by him. Estel's hand goes to Keeper's head and rests there. The friendship between the two touches my heart, and draws me further into the world.

"Gandalf and me, we brought you back. I helped a bit, anyway. I chose the words to say to you," Estel says, his eyes never leaving me face. "You almost went away."

"You chose the right words," I say, suddenly in awe of my foster son. I gather my scattered wits. "I am glad I did not go, my boy. See, all is well," I say, echoing Gandalf's words as the boy's relief and distress spills out of him. I reach across and brush his cheek with my fingers. "Tell me, have you been well?"

"Yes, Papa. I have been washed and my clothes have been washed and I think I'm as clean as I could possibly be. And they keep feeding me good food." 

He sniffs, and brushes the back of his hand across his eyes before he continues.

"I have been learning things, too. And I have my own troop to look after." He smiles happily. His face is full of conflicting emotions. I begin to feel in need of rest again, of good, quiet rest, away from the place I have been in the last days. But I manage to be interested in my son's happiness for a few moments more.

"Your own troop?"

"I don't know if that's the right word, Papa. Ten of the boys here, they're all about my age, and they have started their training as rangers. Properly – you know. And they wanted me to be their captain! I said I didn't know what to do but they said it was all right. Elladan's been helping me and we've been drawing up maps and going on scouting missions and everything."

As his excitement climbs, my mind dims once more. I need only to rest for a little while but I cannot take in all he is saying.

Gandalf's deep voice interrupts the flow. "Come now, Estel. Your father must have his rest. Later, you and I will give him some of that good broth you helped your grandmother to make. Come along – it is time to rouse your men and give them their duties for the day."

Through half-aware eyes I watch the old man take my youngest by the hand and lead him from the hut. Keeper follows, tail wagging. I fall into rest.

It is near dark when I come back to myself again. This time, I feel much stronger and the pain which has been with me for days has faded away.

"Elrond?" a soft female voice enquires. "Will you stay with us this time?"

It is Ivorwen, and her voice is softer than I have known it.

"I believe so," I say.

"Do you wish for some food?"

She helps me to sit up and draws the blankets around me. I still feel too light, too much a part of another world.

"Yes," I say. A connection with the world of Middle Earth, that is what I need to anchor me again.

Ivorwen stands and calls, "Estel!"

The boy is a minute coming.

"All is well!" he says, as if reporting to her. "I have guards placed and the scouting parties have all returned."

"You are running the village most efficiently, Estel," she says.

He looks down, unsure what to do with the compliment.

"It's only a game, grandmother," he says.

"No. It is more than that, child. You have given us new purpose. Now come, bring a bowl of broth for your father. He needs to build back his strength."

Estel, after a prompt from Ivorwen, washes his hands in a bowl placed on a table by the fireplace, takes a dish and ladles carefully into it something which smells potently of venison. He holds it in both hands as he brings it to me.

"Can you hold it, Papa?" he asks. I take it from him and test out my strength.

"I believe so. A spoon would be helpful."

"Oh!" Estel quickly fetches one and I begin to eat, under his watchful care.

The light is fading in the hut. It is quiet, and the darkness is soothing. The broth warms me, and I am satisfied to be back in this place, for my boy needs me. He sits by my side, watching me eat.

"How is your puppy?" I ask between spoonfuls.

"Shall I fetch him for you? He's growing up every day."

"Yes. I would like to see him. Have you named him yet?" He might have told me. I have forgotten much that happened in the last days.

"Hú," he says, getting up immediately. "When he is bigger, Húan." Then he is gone.

"His puppy is not the only one who is growing, Master Elrond." Gandalf appears in the doorway. He comes to sit back in the large chair where I first saw him. "The boy is a sturdy scion of the family. He suffered little from his drenching and his fear."

"Yet he has grown thinner again," I lament. "Has he been completely well?"

"He has suffered two more visions and he does not sleep well," Gandalf admits. "Keeper looks after him, and this new business he has, being the captain of his own troop, occupies his mind. It was Elladan's idea, and it has been a great success. He has a natural ability to persuade others to do what he wishes them to do. He does not force them – they do it for love of him. Yet he does not know that."

I raise my eyebrows, and set the bowl back in my lap. "How long have I been ill?" I ask. "He has accomplished so much!"

"You have been recovering from your wound for seven days, old friend. In that time, all have deepened their respect for your son – their captain-to-be."

"Ah – yes," I reply.

We sit silently for a few minutes, then Estel appears at the door, his puppy in his arms.

"Hush! He is asleep," he says, and the puppy is indeed draped across his arms in sleep.

"Bring him here," I say. Estel carefully places the puppy on the bed, then stands back. I put my hand on the warm body of the puppy and, in my own way, I ward the puppy from harm. Hú. Húan. I will remind Estel of the story of Húan when we return to Imladris.

The day ends. Estel goes about his business, checking his guards, so Elladan tells me. The twins return from their own patrols and we converse, of home, of the days to come and, as the evening wears on, of Elrohir's adventure.

"I was carried downstream a long way," Elrohir tells me. "When I reached the shore, it was almost too steep to climb. It was still day, the birds singing, the sky blue. It is a beautiful world, Father. I am glad we are still here."

I take Elrohir's hand in mine. "I am glad, too, my sons. Now, we are to heal Estel. Then we shall return home and all will be well again."

I do not miss the look between the twins.

"Gandalf says you must not take part in the healing. You are not strong enough yet."

"Then we will wait until I am strong enough," I reason. Gandalf's words are logical, so there is no cause for me to complain.

Elladan takes over from his brother. "Ivorwen says – she says it must be the day after tomorrow. Such a healing has not been needed amongst the Rangers for years. The old man who will perform the ceremony has arrived and he says it must be now, for it is a propitious time. And Estel should not wait another year."

I know they are keeping something from me but all I want to do tonight is rest. I shall find out tomorrow what they are attempting to hide from me.

Estel reappears and comes to pick up his puppy.

"Has he been good?" he asks, trying to get his hands under the pup, who wakes and laps at his face.

"He has been very good. As have you, Estel. Tomorrow, if I may, I should like to inspect your troop."

"I will line them up for you, Papa. I don't know why they made me captain. I don't know anything about hunting here and scouting and things like that."

"Then as soon as we get home, I shall teach you myself. Learn what you can now, child."

"I will be glad to be home," Estel says firmly. "I don't know why, but I think it is too dangerous for me here!"

Elrohir takes him by the shoulder. "Come now. Let's get you bedded down for the night!"

"I'm not a horse!" says Estel as Elrohir steers him from the hut. "Goodnight, Papa!"

"Goodnight."

"I know the way!" I hear him protesting.

"I'm not having you being stolen again," Elrohir says.

"They didn't fight fair. Next time, I'll fight back harder."

The conversation fades. I sink back onto the soft pillows and try to compare Estel with his father. There is simply no comparison. I had not a moment's worry about Arathorn, who was never chased, or taken away, or took to running away. I say as much to Elladan, who smiles.

"Father – you should drink this," Elladan says, holding a cup in his hand.

I take the tea and drink, savouring the complex tastes and approving the mixture. "The touch of mint is appreciated," I say.

"Your favourite, Father," Elladan says. "Rest well. Those are Gandalf's instructions. He is talking to the old man about Estel's treatment. Father," Elladan says, and looks for a moment like the child he was so long ago.

"Yes," I say, handing him my cup.

"Estel's concern for his enemy was quite remarkable. His father, in that situation, would have relished the chance to defeat his foes. Does this make Estel weak, compared to his father?"

After a moment's thought, I know the answer. "No, my son. It makes him strong."

Elladan nods, tidies his medicines and then leaves me alone.

The sounds of the camp are ever-present. I hear the quiet conversation, the happy laughter of children and, once again, the thrum of rain on the roof.

A moment of peace. There have not been too many such moments in the last months. I hope these calm, strong people know what they are doing. If they do not, they will answer to me.

**(A/N – I would just like to thank those of you who have stuck with this story and given me the encouragement of some very kind feedback. I am very happy to read all comments, which have been very helpful in encouraging me to go on when I couldn't see a way forward. So – thank you very much!)**


	46. Captain 10

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

Elrohir

Father is still resting but the camp is in movement all around him. All know that the day has come, the day Estel will be tested by the old man, to see if he is truly ready to face the ordeal they say will cure him.

I am full of misgivings. They will not let me see their healer. He stays in a small tent at the edge of the camp. Estel was brought to him every hour yesterday, and they gave him something, they must have done, for it made him very sick. Yet we were not allowed to tend him. They look after him, I know, for I questioned Ivorwen and she assures me that all is well with him. She looked surprised at my concern.

I am glad Father stays in his bed.

"We cannot allow this to continue," Elladan whispers to me. We sit near the river, as close as we are allowed to be, and I caught Estel's eye as he was taken into the hut. He was white and biting his lip.

"I know," more anxious even than he is to take some action which will help our brother. "Yet they are not going to hurt him, surely. He is too important to them."

"Elladan. Elrohir." The quiet greeting makes my brother look up. Gandalf is standing on the bank of the river, gazing across it.

"Gandalf," I say. I want to ask him what we should do, in case there is some hope of being allowed to take Estel away, back to Imladris. Now.

"All is well. They are preparing him. He is a little worried but he knows it is for the best. Come. You have been invited to meet someone who will be able to show you why this is necessary."

Elladan stands but I do not want to leave my post. I can hear Estel. I want to stop the mouth of the man who is making him sob so.

"Come, Elrohir. Your anger will do no good here. He will recover quickly enough. This must be done. Let me show you why."

So I follow, reluctantly. Gandalf leads us to the other side of the village, to the hut which they use as a healing place. They did not put my father here, for Ivorwen insisted he be brought to her dwelling.

Gandalf pulls back the blanket over the doorway and Elladan goes through into the darkness. I follow slowly, glancing at Gandalf, who has put his hand to his lips.

Inside, there is a fire but no other light. The room is divided into six curtained bays, each with a bed. Two are occupied, one by the man who aided us in bringing Estel and Father home, and one by a sick child. Yet there is another here, one I did not know about. His bay is screened more heavily, and Elladan hesitates at the thick, drawn curtain.

Gandalf himself goes first. Inside, it is near pitch-dark. On the bed lies a young man, barely twenty, I would guess. He is bound to the bed. By his side sits an old woman.

"Is he quiet now?" Gandalf asks her.

"Yes. You always make him quieter. But he burns, Gandalf. He burns. He will not be tortured much longer."

"He has grown very thin. Is he eating?"

"I cannot get him to eat. I think it is best he leaves this world."

Gandalf lays his hand on the old woman's shoulder. She is weeping. The young man on the bed becomes restless, moaning a little and pulling feebly on his bonds.

I do not even need to ask. This is what will happen to Estel, should the healing fail. Elladan has his hand on my arm. He knows it too.

Then Gandalf reaches forward and puts his hand on the young man's forehead. He settles, relaxing a little.

"He will rest quietly for an hour or so. I do not think it will be long." There is pity in Gandalf's voice, and distress.

He ushers us out into the bright daylight. The sun is surrounded by dark clouds but, for that moment, peers through, shining off the dozens of puddles in the camp.

"It is his time. As it is Estel's. He will move on. They could not help him, for when they tried to help him they were interrupted. A boy in such a state cannot be disturbed. Dark times, dark times." Gandalf shook his head. "Now, will you tend to your father and leave the edain to care for their own?"

He is guiding us away from the little hut. I can still hear Estel in my mind. When he was small, sometimes he would wake, and his calls would be answered. It is hard now to resist those calls.

Elladan is speaking to Gandalf, but my mind is still far away from them.

"Elrohir," my brother says, and I blink and try to concentrate. "Let us take a little exercise. We can do nothing here."

I nod and we go back to our shared quarters, Gandalf walking away towards Ivorwen, who waits for him outside her hut.

"Take your sword," I tell my brother as I put on my jacket. "I feel in need of some practice."

"Anything to lift your mood," Elladan says, fastening his belt over his tunic. "We must trust these people. They know what they are doing."

"And that boy we saw, tied to the bed, aching to leave this world, he gives you confidence that they know what they are doing?"

I draw my sword from its sheath and test its edge with my thumb. There is a spot of rust on the blade and I begin the task of cleaning it off.

Elladan is silent for a moment, then he sighs. "You cannot be proposing we march up to these people, who healed Father and know what to do for Estel, and insist we supervise what they are doing. Can you?"

"Yes," I say, hissing the word at my brother. "That is exactly what I propose. What harm can we do? I could be near Estel, at least."

"You interfere, brother. You would ask them what they are giving him, tell them he is too cold or too hot. Then you would criticise Estel and begin to tell him to complain less, or drink his medicine bravely." He is looking at me now and I can hardly bear his gaze. "And I would be doing the same. You cannot let your anger rule you."

It is an old argument, this. Since Mother – since that time, we have both been angry. Elladan disguises it better than I but it afflicts us both. He is right. I cannot behave as I would want. I must put my trust in these people.

I nod and finish the work on my sword. I sheath it once more then buckle my belt, shifting the weight of the sword until it is balanced correctly.

"If it is any consolation, he has been allowed to have Keeper with him," Elladan says. "I saw them leading the hound over there early this morning."

"Yes," I say. "That is good. Elladan," I say, looking hard at my brother, whose tension shows in face and body. "It is difficult for me to trust his care to another."

Elladan shrugs. "What is true for you is true for me also. And for Father. But Gandalf says he must be left to them, then we shall leave him to them. What if we interfered and caused him harm?"

"I cannot do nothing," I reply, throwing the whetstone on my bedroll.

"Then let us guard him, brother. Let us guard this village as it has never been guarded. No enemy shall approach it. Nothing shall disturb its peace."

Gandalf comes into the room. "Your father wishes to see you. Do not keep him waiting."

Elladan laughs, the tension in his body easing. "Do you remember, wizard, many years ago now. You came to Imladris and found us both filthy, playing in the river. We were very young – very young."

"I remember. I scared you enough with those words then. Do not keep him waiting. You ran like rabbits!" Gandalf smiled at the memory.

"We did not!" I return, pretending annoyance. "We ran much faster than rabbits!"

"Much faster!" echoes my brother. "We were not happy with you when we discovered you were teasing us."

"Why must we stay away, Gandalf? I do not understand." The question formed in my mind that instant. I have been shown the result of unfinished healing but I do not know what we can do that would hurt my brother.

Then the wizard says something which silences us both. The silence hangs between us while the sounds of the village circle us.

"Because he must not be with anyone who will show him pity."


	47. Captain 11

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

If I had to tell Papa how I was feeling, I would tell him that I don't feel scared. Not exactly scared. It's too interesting to make me just scared.

This is what I have been looking forward to for weeks now, though I didn't know it was. The bad things that have been happening to me, I can have them all put right. I don't know how. I know what will happen but I don't know how it will make me better.

I have lots of other things I need to tell Papa about and ask him about. But I am not allowed to see him, not for another three days. It's a long time.

When I first went into the old man's place, it was very dark inside, and warm. He was sitting on a little, old chair, and he had a man near him to help him. He looked at me for a long time, then he took hold of my hand and made a mark on the palm. It tingled and I shook my hand, and he laughed! I didn't understand why but I laughed too.

"It does not hurt, then?" he said, and his voice was really old and sounded as though it came from a long way away.

I shook my head. "No. It just feels funny. What did you do?"

"It was a test. Can you take some more of my tests?" He leaned forward and looked me right in the eye, but he didn't make me afraid of him. He reminds me a bit of Gandalf.

"Yes."

"Draw me something. Anything. The first thing that comes into your mind. There, on the table, paper and a piece of charcoal. It will make a good picture. Clear your mind and just draw me something."

I went and sat at the table. There was a big mug of water there and I was thirsty so I had some of it, then I looked at the paper and sort of tried to see something on it. I did and then it was like tracing what I saw. I don't know if I was a long time drawing but the old man watched me all the time.

When I had finished I took my picture over to him.

"Ah – Estel? Is that what you are called?"

"Yes. It means hope," I tell him, wanting him to know that my name means something. I don't know why but it seemed important for him to know.

"Hope. Yes. Now, this picture. Tell me about where it comes from, up here in your head. Is it a picture there, or is it words that tell you what to draw?" He holds his hand over my head without touching it.

I have to think very hard about that. It's not in my head, not in the way he says. "I think it isn't in my head, not like thinking is in my head. It comes from somewhere in me but I don't know where. I don't think I even know what it is I am drawing. The lines seem to come by themselves. I let my hand do it, and it seems to know what to do. But that only works sometimes."

The old man leans back and smiles at me. He looks young in that minute, and I feel happy to be trusting him to straighten me out inside. I think I have grown a little crooked, I think that's what it is.

"You are growing too fast, young Estel. Some parts of you are outstripping others, and we need to tame them and bring them back under your control. Then your gifts will, over time and with help, be of service to others. Are you willing to try the way of your people? It is a hard way. Some fail. But there have been others who have succeeded and have been of great help to their people. You must say what you wish to do. We can wait another year, I judge, though I did not think we could. But it would be better now."

"Then let it be now! I want to help other people! Will I be able to heal people?" I can see myself helping Papa, going to the poor people who come to us and laying hands on them and healing them.

The old man laughs now. "Come, child. Do not get such grand ideas. In time, a long while from now, you could assist in the healing of others. But that is a long way in the future, I think. Do not believe yourself to be some kind of great magician. That power is reserved for wizards, is it not, Gandalf?"

I look up, and there is Gandalf. I had not noticed him at all! It is like magic! He is not wearing his cloak or his hat and his white hair is bright in the sunshine and he is smiling at me too.

"Hmmmm. Well, if you say so. Now, Estel – are you sure this is the right choice? You will have to travel it alone. We cannot help you. We can be in the same place but you must not speak to us or look to us for guidance."

"Is that why Papa cannot help? Would he be always talking to me?"

Gandalf makes an odd noise in his throat and I look at him, to see what is wrong.

The old man smiles gently. "That is exactly it, child. Exactly. He is always talking and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from asking how you were every few moments. No, your Papa needs to remain still and recover from his wound, not be with you. He cannot help you along the path. No one can."

I suddenly see a narrow path in my mind, one with a steep drop on one side and a sheer cliff on the other. I am making my way along it. It's the picture I drew.

"I can do it, really, I can. Just tell me what I need to do and it'll be all right. It will." I know I'm talking too much but I feel excited now, not scared any more. "When do we start?"

"You will begin by helping to gather wood for a fire. Enough wood. A big stack of it. Then we will make a place for the fire and you will light it. The smoke will make you clean. Then we will use the fire to heat great stones. Do you understand?" He looks right into my eyes until I feel as if I can't see anything else. I feel Gandalf move round behind me, then his hand on my shoulder, but all I can see is this old man.

"Yes," I say because I do. Somehow he made me see in my mind what it would be like just with the words he chose.

"You will build a lodge for yourself and for me. The stones will be placed in there, and, because they are hot, they will turn the water we throw on them into steam. You will sweat, Estel. We will have to watch you very closely and give you plenty of water. You will find it will change your view of the world, just a little. Just for a few minutes."

I nod, though this time I am not at all sure what he means. It doesn't sound too bad, and he will be there, this old man with a stern face, who smiles at me now. He must be sure it is going to work. He looks sure. He looks as if he knows to a hair's breadth how long I shall be in this lodge. I think somehow I have the wrong idea about this place. I saw a beaver's lodge once, and the beaver, and he slapped his tail on the water to keep me away. Papa told me they swim under the water and then into the hole that is under the water. I asked him how they kept the water out of the lodge and he said it was the air.

But I have to stop imagining that because the old man is speaking to me and I missed what he said.

"Estel! Concentrate! You will not be able to let your mind wander, not for a moment!"

Is he cross with me? I can't tell. "I was thinking about beavers," I tell him. "They live in lodges."

Gandalf laughs. He turns me round and then he kneels down and he hugs me, really tight, and I can feel him laughing.

Then he lets me go and I stand in front of him. I feel hollow again, because I haven't eaten much and everything I ate before has gone. I feel light and empty.

"Will I get better straight away?" I ask him, feeling as though I want to reach out and hold onto his beard, like I did when I was little. It always made his eyes twinkle like stars.

"I hope so. We don't want you needing to come here for more treatment. I don't think you'll be leaving Rivendell ever again, not if your Papa has anything to say about it. Come now, child – let's see about finding some good, dry wood, shall we?"

When he holds out his hand, I take it, even though I'm nine now and too big really for such things.

It takes us a long time to stack the wood into a big enough pile to satisfy the old man. He comes out of his hut to supervise and he places the first and last logs, which I suppose sort of represents him joining in. While we do that, a couple of men from the camp are digging out a pit – Gandalf tells me it's where the fire is going to be.

Finally, they seem to be happy with the number of logs. Gandalf begins to make a layer of logs in the bottom of the pit the men have made. He helps me put some more logs on, then he puts in some big stones, so that it looks like an oven with big loaves of bread in it.

"Are we going to cook the stones?" I ask Gandalf.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, we are. Now, put this in there. It will make the smoke smell sweet and will make you clean."

He held out some long, droopy stalks of sage and something else, I don't know what. I put them on the fire.

The old man came forward, and he had a bag in his hand. He poured something into my cupped hands and I put that on the fire too.

"Ashes," he says. "From the last fire."

We build another layer of logs and stuff, and more stones, until it makes a pile almost too big for me to see over. Well, almost.

Finally, the old man lights the whole thing. Gandalf gave him the fire somehow – I didn't see where the flame came from. I see him nod to the old man, though, and then things begin to move along really quickly as the flames seek a way through the logs, catching on pieces of bark and running from one really dry bit to another before getting into the heart of the wood. I watch, fascinated by the colours and the movement as the fire takes hold.

"Now – let's get you ready," Gandalf says and he leads me away. "It will be evening before it is ready. You must rest."

Gandalf takes me to the grassy place next to the stream, and I am dazzled by the brightness of sunlight reflecting on the water. There are a couple of blankets there already, and he tells me to lie down, while he sits close and lights his pipe. I am tired but excited and Gandalf speaks to me, about things he has seen and places and long ago times and in the middle of that, I think, I fall asleep, for when I wake, the evening star is bright in the soft purple sky. All around me is the hot, sweet smell of smoke.

"Come, Estel," Gandalf says. "It is time."


	48. Captain 12

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

Gandalf

If I had a choice in this matter, I would tell Elrond to take his little foster son home and let him grow a little more before attempting this treatment.

But I do not have a choice. I have tried to explain to Estel that he will take this journey alone, but I do not think he understands how I can be close and yet not with him. I look at the world, as I understand it, its capacity for beauty and strength, its nearness to disaster. I cannot move it one way or another at my own whim. My influence must be limited or it will never grow straight.

And here I am, proposing to allow this old man, this man of such power within his own world, to put Estel to the test. Estel is so keen but I do not believe he is ready. Still, it must be faced and done, and it will be done in the next hours.

We lit the fire correctly, scattered the right herbs and Estel has peacefully slept away the time in my company. He is holding my hand now as we stand together, and I can feel the excitement and the fear coursing through him. He can barely keep still. There is a hushed audience, his young friends, the mothers and fathers in the camp, and Elrond's twin boys all watching us. Elrond still rests, lost in his own dreams. He will be well again soon. But this boy – will what we do to him cure him or leave him wounded for life?

"Come forward, child," the old man says, holding out his hand. Estel looks up and I move my hand, launching him forward. The old man reaches for him, then removes the child's cloak. He wears a loincloth but nothing more, and he looks spidery and shivery. He is drawn into the lodge that has been constructed and for a moment I lose sight of him. Then the old man nods, the crowd fades away and I throw off my own robes and go down on hand and knee and crawl into the dark, wet heat of the place.

Estel is sitting cross-legged. He has a mug of water in his hand and a pitcher by his side. The stones radiate heat so strongly that we must sit back from them. The old man sings an ancient song, into whose language are threaded old memories of places and people. I hear names I had almost forgotten, places long lost under ancient trees and people, old friends, who are now but faint echoes in time. It is a great sadness, to lose so many friends, and a great joy to make new ones. Like this child.

"Drink, Estel. It is very hot in here. Drink up," the old man tells him.

He drinks, and pulls a face, for it is water laced with bitter herbs but he must take them, for they will help him through this ordeal. He must be kept with us, with the bitterness of the world, or we will lose him. The herbs do not send him from us. His mind will wander of its own accord. He is too young for this. He will be lost and terrified and we will not be able to draw him back.

I turn to the old man, who reads the panic in my expression and smiles at me.

"You have known me for nearly two hundred years, Gandalf the Grey. Do you not trust me yet? Now, Estel – take the first step. Do not be afraid. You will not fall. Go, child, see where the path takes you. Come back to us when you have found what you need, and we will be here. Our open arms will welcome you on your return. Go on, off you go." I have a picture of the old man as a child. I remember the moment he walked for the first time, arms out, reaching for his father, and we laughed and celebrated that night, for another child firm on his feet. They come into the world, these men, they learn to walk, to think, to act, and then they pass away from us again. So many – so many, gone into the dark.

"I can see the path!" Estel says, then takes another drink. He begins to look far away, as the old man throws water on the stones and the steam surrounds us. "I'll be back soon!"

"Yes, child. Hurry! You do not have long!"

In my mind's eye, I see Estel running away from us, though I do not see his path. I recall when he was five, and Elrond and I were sitting in the garden, speaking of nothing of great consequence. It was spring and the birds were busy calling to one another, preparing themselves to raise the next generation. The birds come and go so quickly, yet they are always with us, the same bright colours and cheerful songs through all the long years.

Estel was playing on his own, running and jumping and skipping around an ancient tree. He was singing and shouting, then he lost his balance and fell onto the grass. Elrond started up but Estel struggled to his feet and came trotting over.

"I'm all right, Papa!" he said, cheerful and muddy. Elrond picked him up anyway, and held him close. I knew then the love my old friend had for this child and I know it now, with another pang of concern, for we have not told him what we are doing. Yet it is the only way.

After that hug, Elrond had set him on his feet again and pushed him away. "Go on, Estel, run to that tree over there! See if you can catch the squirrel that is flicking his tail at you! Look! He wants you to play with him! Go on!"

And away the child ran, laughing and jumping up, and then standing still to watch the squirrel, which seemed to have no fear of him.

"He is a wonder," I remember Elrond saying. He stood as still as the boy, watching him. "He has become the heart of this place. He is full of light."

The boy was standing in a shaft of sunlight, his hair, lighter then than it is now, flowing and shining in the gold poured from the sun – agh! I cannot find the words but I remember Elrond's expression. He does not shine like an elf-child, yet he is was full of light that day.

And now the boy wanders from us. I could go with him but if I distracted him it could cause him to take a false step. He must find his own way but it is a sore trial.

"Not long now," the old man says. "He will be back to us soon now."

I watch Estel's face. Tears pour from his eyes but he makes no sound. He is reaching out with one hand towards the heat and I almost catch his arm to prevent him but I wait another moment. There – he pulls his hand back sharply and begins to come to himself.

"Gandalf?" he says, moving towards me. Then he loses all his colour and collapses forward, a dead weight in my arms.

"Take him out!" the old man says. "He is too hot! Take him out and put him in the stream!"

I pull him into my arms and push the heavy hangings aside. This will be too much of a shock to him, yet it must be done. I knew all along this would be the next step yet now it is here, so quickly, I can barely think what to do. So I step into the stream with him and go down on my knees, lowering him gently into the fast running water.

"Get me blankets!" I shout. "Blankets! Now!"

There is a flurry of movement in the camp, and two women appear almost immediately. They must have known what to expect. They bring not blankets but fleeces.

I hold Estel for a moment more, hoping to feel life flow back through him but he is still limp and pale.

"That is enough!" one of the women shouts. "Enough!"

Still I wait, then I see Elrond coming towards us, running, his hand to his side, dressed only in his nightclothes.

"Gandalf!" he says. "What have you done to him?"

There is the smallest stir of movement from the child in my arms, so I lift him out of the water and take him to the bank, where the women have laid the fleeces. I wrap him up tightly but can do no more, for Elrond is there, kneeling by the boy's side.

"Estel! Estel! My son!" he calls.

The boy does not stir. His face is white, his lips bluish.

"Elrond – old friend. Check his breathing," I say.

"You did this!" Elrond says, his fury and terror overwhelming him. "If he dies, I will leave Middle Earth to its fate! It does not deserve to continue if it cannot cure its ills except by killing the innocent!"

I do not grasp his meaning at all, but I urge him to check Estel's breathing. Elrond leans over the child in his cocoon of wool and signals for quiet. Then he pulls aside the fleece and lays his hand on Estel's chest.

"He breathes," he says quietly. "His heart beats. But I do not know if he is here any more." There is despair in his voice, and great hurt.

But I am watching Estel's face, for sign of movement and life. Then I call him.

"Estel! You may come back again now. It is time to go home. Stop playing, and come back! Your Papa needs you."

I watch, and I wait, and the whole camp waits with me. Elrond puts his hand on his son's brow and listens.

Birdsong fills the valley. I can hear the worms in the ground, the trees drawing moisture up into the new buds, the clouds flying across the sky. I can feel all that there is to feel in this world.

I search for him, for the little boy set on a difficult path. He came back to me for a moment, so he cannot be far. Just round that bend, perhaps, playing with a squirrel, or chasing down some idea of his own.

"Estel!" I say quietly. "Time to come home now."


	49. Captain 13

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

Elrond

In all the long time I have been in the world, I have never yet had cause to doubt my friendship with Mithrandir.

Yet, as I look at my little boy, who has not yet woken and cannot tell me what has happened, I am filled with anger for the old wizard, who is sitting back on his heels looking at me, smiling as if nothing of great importance has happened.

"Was he paddling in the stream and slipped?" I ask. I am aware of the note of sarcasm. I am not going to curb it. "Did it seem as though he needed another bath? Is he asleep now? May I take him home?"

"Old friend," Mithrandir begins but he falters soon enough. What can he say that can make a difference now?

"You have sweated him and chilled him to the bone. You think this will cure him?"

I can feel both my sons coming to stand by me, but they know better than to say anything. I feel weak still, my strength returning so slowly, and my arm shakes as I try to feel for my boy's spirit in this white, still body.

"Estel! Come home!" Mithrandir calls again. "Your father wants you to come back now."

"Estel!" I call, hope fading in me, for I cannot hear him in my mind. "I wish to take you home now. You must return to us."

But he does not hear either of us, or if he does, does not choose to return.

"Let us take him indoors. It is becoming chilly here," Mithrandir says. I cannot understand his calm. I want to rail against it but I do not have the strength. "And should you not return to bed also? Elladan, bring Estel's bedroll and put it by your father's bed. We can care for him there. He is only asleep and a little stubborn."

Elladan moves away. Mithrandir picks up my boy as if he weighs nothing, settling the child's head against his shoulder then setting off across the camp. I can hardly rise. Elrohir comes to lend me his assistance but I am too overwrought to take his offer.

He whispers, "Father. They are all watching," in my ear, and I pull myself up, then take his arm.

"We hope he will get well soon!" says a child. "He's a good captain!"

"He is indeed," I say. "I am sure he will take up his post again soon." But in my heart, I do not see a hopeful future.

It is a relief to be helped back to bed. Elladan washes my feet – I even neglected to pull on boots before I went to Estel's aid. But he makes no comment, just pats my feet dry with a warmed cloth, then holds the sheet back for me as I shuffle back to my sick bed. Yes, indeed, I am heartily sick of it, I say to myself, and my snort of derision at my own joke makes Elladan look hard at me. He moves away when I am settled, though. Fancy forgetting my boots! I must have looked a fool, shouting in my nightshirt at the wizard.

Just who is the foolish old man now? I smile gently, perhaps even sheepishly, as Mithrandir hands me some potion of his own concoction.

"Is he sleeping?" I ask, looking down at Estel. His face is just visible among the furs which have been heaped around him.

"I believe so," Mithrandir says, kneeling back at the boy's side. He puts his hand on the boy's brow. "I'll wake him soon. I think a little broth will pull him away from whatever is holding his attention."

"What was done to him? I have never seen a sweat lodge used in that way, on a child so young. Did you not consider how dangerous it might be?" I am beginning to sound querulous and over-anxious again. Mithrandir looks at me steadily.

"Drink your tea, Elrond. You do not know how ill you have been. There was poison in your wound and it has taken some skill to draw it from you. You will still need to rest."

"Yes," I say. "I thought as much. Now – will he not be …"

"Hush," Mithrandir says, but he looks at Estel. "Let the boy sleep. You will not lose him. You have not failed him."

I lie back on the comfortable pillows, and listen to the old man, who has been my friend through all the long years, gently calling Estel, tempting him back to us with stories and even a song.

"It is many years since I heard you sing that," I say, as I lie half awake in the quiet hut. The twins have gone and there is little noise from outside.

"When the twins would not sleep, that song was the only one which would settle them. It is one of my own devising, and I believe I might have woven a spell into it at some time. Now, Master Elrond, before you fall asleep also, perhaps I can explain a little of what I believe the old man did."

"Yes – yes, do that, my old friend. Before I sleep, I wish to know." In truth, I had closed my eyes for a moment but I want to understand. What if Estel wishes to know what has happened, and I am unable to tell him?

"He was sent away, into another place," Mithrandir says. "It is a place that is important to him, though he does not know it. He was sent back first, I believe, to the place where he began to go wrong. I do not know when that was, and I do not know if Estel himself will be able to tell you. Something terrible happened to him – was it his horse dying, would that be it?"

"Ruby? Ruby gave his life to save the boy, and Estel would not be reconciled to that sacrifice. I think he gained an insight into what it might mean to be responsible, in some way, for the death of another." I considered the days after the death of the horse and saw in them, for the first time, an Estel who travelled a different path, a troubled path. Yet I had not known how to comfort him or even travel that path with him.

"I think the blow went deeper still. I believe he tried to save his horse, and I think it took too much from him. Imagine a pool in him, a cistern ready for the water of his skill as a healer. He is young – it is barely beginning to fill, and he empties every bit of his power into that moment. Yet the horse dies. He cannot save him. He has barely enough resources to keep himself from harm."

"He did not keep himself from harm. His visions – and he was ill, one illness after another, fevers – and he was losing weight." I catalogued his ills and saw with clarity how they might have sprung from that one source.

"Yet, there is more. These people, these special people, have among them healers of great power, power they must learn how to guard and use for others. If they do not learn, the power turns on them. The boy in the healer's tent – Elrond, he is dying because his power has turned against him."

Mithrandir stops speaking. He has his hand on Estel's forehead again, and then he draws back some of the furs and removes a blanket. "He must not get too hot again," he says. "He is warm and at peace. Estel – hurry up! Supper!"

And at last, there is movement, Estel shuffling a little, then falling back into sleep.

"And this is their treatment, to send him away?"

"The only ones who can truly teach him are those who have gone before. I do not know how, but I was told he would meet those who were healers before him. He must find the right way. And he must be allowed to fill the pool of healing power inside him, and he must not draw from it again until he is old enough to do so safely."

"I knew that, old friend. He has tried in turn to cure his brother and to help me. I could see that was hurting him and we kept him from doing it."

"Gandalf?" There is a small voice, more than a little croaky, from the nest of bedclothes on the floor.

"Yes, my boy?" Mithrandir is very quiet. I keep my mouth closed.

"Can we have some fireworks soon? I've been somewhere very dark and I want to see some fireworks."

"Of course," Mithrandir says, with joy in his voice. "I hope it wasn't too scary, wherever you were."

"Oh no – not really. There were a lot of very serious old men, and they had beards and bright eyes and swords. They had armour on, some of them. They looked – they looked a bit like what I imagined all those brave people who fought in battles long ago looked like."

Estel eased himself up on one elbow, then drank the water Mithrandir held out to him. He had his back to me. I listened with the greatest peace and joy in my heart, for here was my boy, handed back to us, safe and well. His voice was clear and there was wonder and laughter in it, such as I had not heard for too long.

"They told me lots of things about being a healer. I watched one of them do it, Gandalf – well, pretended to, sort of. It's hard to explain. Then another one, he said I had a very special gift, and I had to keep it safe and not – not play with it. Not take it and use it just for myself, I think he meant. Not – use it for bad, though I am not sure how I would do that. But – Gandalf!"

Suddenly there is some distress in his voice. "I wanted to stay and be with them for longer, but they made me go away. And they said – they said something – but it is fading from my mind. I can't remember it! Oh, Gandalf – what if it was important?"

Estel crawls over to Mithrandir and turns, seeing me for the first time. His eyes are awash with tears and there is such sadness, such loss in his voice.

"Hush, child. If they had wanted you to remember it, do you not think you would? Perhaps it will come to you again, when you are older."

"Papa," he says, very serious in his tone and demeanour. "Will I know, when I am older, what it was they said?"

I take a deep breath, and give him an answer he has not heard from me before. "I do not know, Estel."

He looks at me curiously. Then, as suddenly as a streak of lightning brightening the sky, he smiles. "I'm hungry!" he announces. "I feel completely empty, every bit of me! I think I'd be blown away if you put me out in a strong wind!" Then he is laughing, and rolling around on the floor, trying to avoid Mithrandir's hands, and the wizard tries to catch him and tickle him.

"Old wizard," I say firmly. "Stop trying to tickle my boy to death! Get him some food!"

"Yes, Master Elrond," says Mithrandir, climbing to his feet and bowing elaborately. "And shall I draw the young master a bath?"

"No more baths!" says Estel. "Ever!" he says firmly, coming to stand by my bed.

"No bath, no fireworks tomorrow," says Gandalf, returning with a cup of broth and a chunk of bread. "Anyway, your men will need drilling tomorrow, and I am sure that will be a muddy business. And Spider is waiting for you. And your puppy."

"Oh, Papa – I feel – I feel better inside. I think something was broken, and it's been mended. But I forget how – I feel as though it was a dream, and it's all slipping away from me now. Does it matter – should I try to remember?"

He takes the cup carefully from Gandalf and then comes to sit on a small stool by my side. There is such energy in him now he can barely sit still.

"Eat up, child. We will travel to Rivendell soon and you can see what you can remember when we get home. There is your journal to write, and your tree to tend. And so much still to learn!"

"There is one thing I remember, Papa. I was sitting by the side of a road. I was watching a troop of men pass by, and they were singing, though they were tired and some were having to help each other to walk. It was a bright, hot day. At the front of the troop walked a tall man, taller than all the rest, and he was dark-haired and he wore a long cloak and travelling clothes, not really like a soldier. I couldn't see his face, because he was walking away from me. But I knew him, Papa. I knew him. He was from a long, long time ago, and his story is not a good one, but he was happy on that day, leading his troop and somehow I knew he was going back to his father, and he was happy to be doing that, for he loved his father. I could smell the pines in the air and feel the dust in my eyes. Papa, he was a very important man. I think – I think it was – Isildur." Estel falls suddenly silent, his eyes bright with that memory.

"I met Isildur," I admit, and the pain of that moment, when I urged him to destroy the ring – when I could not interfere with his decision, only try to persuade him – came back to me, the thick stench and burning heat around me, the wind whipping my words back into my mouth. And this man, lost to his own greed and weakness in that moment, had been my friend too, so long ago. So long ago.

"Papa?" Estel says, his cup halfway to his mouth. "Did I say something wrong?"

I draw a deep breath and smile at him. This boy has returned a memory long lost, of days spent travelling with young Isildur, before thoughts of battles and great enemies troubled him too much. The occasions were rare, and did not last, but there were such times. And this boy is his direct heir.

"No. No, Estel. Now, eat up. You'll have to go back to bed soon!"

"Papa!" he says, smiling broadly. "I'm not sleepy any more."

"Good," I say decisively. "It is time we started your lessons again. Mathematics, I think. I'm sure we can find you a writing instrument and a piece of paper here somewhere."

He looks at me suspiciously for a moment, trying to work out if I am teasing him. For a moment, I do not know either.

"Come, little one, let's hear your seven times table," says Gandalf. "Start counting – but don't choke on your bread!"

The day closes around us. Someone brings in light and makes up the fire, but we three are in our own world. Once Estel is through his tables and his supper, we entertain him with old stories. Gandalf sits on the floor and Estel leans on him, pulling on his beard absent-mindedly, as he did when he was a baby. But there is nothing babyish about him. He has grown. He has a knowledge and a surety in him now which was missing before.

How has it happened? I am not sure what I shall write in my account, later. I shall ask more people, of course, learn what I can. But in the end, I am not sure if it matters whether I know how he has been made well.

Estel knows he is well, and that is all, in the end, that really counts.


	50. Captain 14

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Sorry about the slight delay! I am hoping to continue. If there's anyone out there still reading I'd be delighted to hear from you.)

Estel

The kingcups in the marsh are big, gold dinner plates. No, they're like suns. No, that's not the colour either. They're so large I want to hold one in my hands but Papa tells me not to keep picking the flowers. I want them to live and become more, so I try to reach one and hold my hands round it without breaking the stem.

"Estel."

I look behind me and there is Mithrandir, smiling at me.

"Yes?" I say, hoping he has something to tell me. He knows so much and I want to know everything there is to know. Everything.

"If you have to change your clothes before you start your journey, your father will not be pleased. Everything is packed now. Do you want him to have to unpack again?"

I think I must look puzzled. My head is still full of the shining yellow flowers.

"Look down," he says, and I do, automatically.

"Oh." My feet are already sinking. I step back, then back again, pulling my boot slowly out of the mud. Then I feel like laughing as I nearly get unbalanced and Mithrandir saves me. He pulls me up and suddenly I'm flying, only to fall and be caught in his arms. Now I really can't stop laughing.

"My boy," he says as he sets me on my feet. "And what do you want to know now?"

We spend a good part of the morning together. He finds a flower which is already broken and very carefully takes it to bits, naming each strange shaped piece for me.

"How does each bit – how did they get to be made like that? I mean, did they all fit together like that in the first flower ever? Or – or – like, this piece here, I mean, the flower wouldn't be that shape if this bit was bigger."

He lays each piece across my hand and begins to answer some of the questions, though he asks me what I think, too, until I can't think any more for all the questions.

When that happens, he lets me sit close by and be quiet.

The stream is silvery, the kingcups are gold. The pimpernel at my feet is a bright ruby.

Ruby died so long ago. Death is a long going away. The young man, the one who was dying while I was being healed has gone now, and I went to his funeral. Papa went too, though they put a chair for him because he wasn't quite well then but he is now. That's why we're going home.

The camp ground has large brown round patches across it where the huts were. Most of the people have gone, and I helped pack up and load the animals and do anything useful that I could. I was thanked in lots of ways and I have some presents to take home, one from every family, which was very kind of them. I really didn't do that much to deserve presents but I couldn't give them back, could I? Papa supervised me and told me how to write good letters to thank them.

Before my troop went all different ways we patrolled together and Halbarad made everyone stand properly and then they presented me with a new belt, with a place to put my knife and a pouch for medicine and things like that. Halbarad said I was always going to be their captain and in the autumn we can train together some more. He's going to come and stay in three or four weeks, too, if his new duties allow. He's learning to be a Ranger properly. I hope he'll help me train when I see him. I would have liked him to have ridden back to Rivendell with us but he couldn't.

He is a good friend.

Ruby. I look into the water and see him, strong and yet so gentle. He looked after me and then he died for me. Elrohir, who never has any patience with me, said it was all right for me to mind about that, and that it would take a long time for me to feel less sorry about it. I know that my horse dying took something important away from me but that I am better now.

I turn and hug Mithrandir, taking him by surprise.

"Am I your boy too, Mithrandir? Gandalf – is that what they call you? Am I your boy as well as Papa's boy?"

"Yes, Estel. For now, you are my boy too. But you are growing up fast. Come now, it must be nearly time for you to go. It's going to be a warm day, I think."

I stand up and look around. Grandmother's hut is nearly the last to be taken down. Now it's a neat pile of poles and cloths, and they are strapping the furniture onto a cart, one of the only carts in the whole camp. She really must be an important lady.

I asked her yesterday if she was going to see my mother. She said she was. So I wrote mother a letter inviting her to come back to Rivendell, if she wanted to come. I want her to come, but I am happy. I have Papa and my brothers and my pony and my puppy, even though the puppy went yesterday with his mother. I'll see him again when the leaves change to gold, Elladan said. I'll be able to keep him then.

The clearing is brown and green and gold, and the sunlight fills the world up to the brim with brightness. Steam goes up from the last fire as they throw water over it and then scatter the ashes. It is time.

I walk beside Mithrandir. Elladan comes over and helps me to put on my new coat, one made to be the right size. Then my pack, with my own food and a blanket and a change of smallclothes, and a water bottle hanging from the side.

"I want a walking stick," I tell him.

Elladan looks at Mithrandir and though they don't say anything they both smile.

"Please," I say, hoping this is indeed the magic word, as I've been told often enough that it is.

"We'll see," said Elladan. "Now come, I'll help you saddle your pony. He's as round as a barrel. We'll have to walk that off him."

"I'm going to find him a new name, Elladan," I say, as I pull and pull at the belly strap to tighten it. "Grandmother doesn't like Spider. But I like it, and I like little spiders and the different webs they make. All the different shapes."

"It is your choice," Elladan says, making sure the pony has breathed out before checking the girth then tugging once more. "There are good spiders in this world and there are harmful ones, though each has its own place in the scheme of things. Perhaps she thinks it is bad luck and you should ride a pony with good luck in its name."

I scratch the back of my head. I've been thinking about this question for a whole week and I still don't know the answer.

"There. That seems safe enough. Now, go and get the saddlebags. Father is nearly ready."

I tie on the saddlebags carefully then go and stand in front of Spider. I give him the bit of carrot I've been saving for him, and rub his nose. If he could speak, he could tell me his real name. I wonder why he can't speak to me. I'm sure Legolas could understand him but I haven't seen Legolas for ages now.

I try to clear my mind of all the thoughts flying around in there, as busy as bees. Golden bees. The perfect new name must be there somewhere. I am sure he should have a baby name and a grown up name, and all he has so far is the baby name. Spider.

I look around for inspiration. Ash. There's a big ash tree, still covered in great black buds long after the beech has put out its carefully folded green leaves. No. Still too sad.

Kingcup? No, that's too silly. He'd hate that.

"Estel! Come and say goodbye to your grandmother!" Papa calls.

I pat Spider, and then wipe my hand on my jacket. Then I brush down my jacket. My boots are muddy and I begin to worry about them but Papa is calling again, so I run over to him. He is standing tall now, and his eyes tell me he's well again.

"Are you ready?" Grandmother asks. "Are you looking forward to going home?"

I nod and reach into my belt pouch for my letter to mother. "Please," I say. "Could you give this to her?"

She takes it and looks at the name I have written on the outside, in my best script. Even Papa didn't know about it.

"I will. Never give up your hope, my child. You will see her again."

I so want to, suddenly. I remember her, her dress and the way she held me. But it is all right.

"Thank you," I tell her, and I feel Papa come to stand behind me. He puts one hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you for my puppy, and for looking after me and Papa, and I am very glad I met you."

Somehow that's not quite what Papa told me to say but Grandmother looks as if she's pleased.

"I am very glad to have met you, too," she says. "At the end of the year, in another place like this, we may meet again, I hope. Your puppy will be a dog, then, and fit to come into your service."

"I am going to give Spider his grown-up name when I can think what it is," I tell her.

"That would be a very wise action," she says, smiling in that grave way of hers. "I know you will choose well."

I even remember to bow, but I find I am being hugged, and then she moves away, a tall lady, with her long skirts and cloak moving around her as she walks.

The ride is fun. The weather is so good and Papa and Elladan and Elrohir make the time fly with stories and guessing games and things for me to look at. I practice all the new names over and over until I know them. The wayfaring tree, with its big, light green leaves. When the wind moves them, their white undersides show and the whole tree seems to be on the move. Papa says they have bright red berries in the autumn. I am going to look for them when we come back this way. Then we stop for lunch by an evergreen oak, the holm oak, which is just putting out its new leaves.

I start asking questions about why some leaves stay on the trees and some don't, but then I am given a large piece of bread and some cheese and I have to stay quiet to eat it. I listen instead to the robin that is singing in a tree nearby. It begins creeping closer through the bushes. When I throw it some crumbs it flaps down and begins to peck at them. Its legs are so thin compared to its round body. Why don't they freeze, I wonder. Do they keep them tucked up, like a cat, or like – like I don't know what.

We rest for a while and I doze, lying on my back and watching the clouds laze across the blue sky. Each day they change, yet they are the same. Each day comes and goes, and does the world know of me? The question seems to come not from my head but from right inside me, in that place I visited when I was being cured. Does the world know of me?

I am quiet for a while even when we begin to ride again, until Elladan pulls his big horse next to me and asks if I am well.

"Is the world too big a place to know about us?" I ask, feeling a little foolish.

Elladan is silent. Then, quietly, he says, "I believe the world knows of us."

I am happy with his reply and feel less small than I did before I had that answer.

We camp just as the sun is beginning to slip down over the horizon. Tomorrow we will be home. Mithrandir disappears for a while then comes back with a walking stick for me. It is the height of my shoulder, and it still has its bark. He says he will work on it for me and when it is ready, it will be mine. I want him to start on it straight away but he sets it aside. I look at it for a while, longing for it to be ready but he shoos me away and fills his pipe.

My brothers make my bed for me between them, then Elrohir decides it is time I understand the craft of making a fire. When we have gathered kindling and some different sizes of sticks and branches, he shows me the firestick he carries, with its blackened holes. I try to get the wood to glow but I am tired before I can make much of it.

"That's all right," he says. "Practice, and you will soon be able to make fire even if you have only two sticks and some kindling. "Here," he says. "I will give you my flint and steel. Try that."

He puts some pine shavings close and I strike, and I am lucky, for in a couple of minutes my brother is blowing carefully on the little fire. He sets the flame in the middle of the fire and I feed it with small twigs. I watch them closely as they catch, the bark first then the heart of the wood. I put the small, thin pieces into the flames until I can feel the heat in my fingers.

It makes me very happy but I don't know why. It is something I can do, make fire, to drive away my enemies and to give me and my family heat and light, hot food and home comfort.

As I lie down between my big brothers, knowing they will be there all night in case I need guarding, I understand that this is a moment I will remember all my life. Whatever happens, I will not lose this time, when I was made well again.

I look at Mithrandir, who is talking quietly with Papa. They will be up a long time, telling each other things they already know. Mithrandir has my walking stick in his hands, and he is slowly twisting the bark from it with his big, strong hands.

The summer is calling me. New times and new adventures. And at the end of that time, Hú to serve me. What an odd way of putting that! Well, Grandmother said it so it must be right.

"Sleep, brother," Elladan says. "Do not think so hard on the mysteries of the world that you keep yourself awake."

"I was thinking about the summer," I say. "I want to be able to swim better and use my bow better and – grow. I want to get taller."

"Sleep, Estel," Papa says. "To grow, you need lots of sleep."

I stay awake a few moments more, turning this new idea over in my mind. Is there no end to new ideas? I hope not. When I grow up – when I do …

tbc


	51. Summer 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Another bridge – but we're getting there!)

It is good to be home. The Last Homely House, it is called, though that is not true, for there are many homely places to the south. Yet this afternoon, as we approach, I feel it is so – a homely place, a welcoming one, the door wide open and my household greeting us.

Estel does not seem to know who to turn to first. He runs from one to another, and he gives something to each of them, some twig or leaf or stone he has collected on the way. Some speak to him, some hug him, some listen solemnly while he tells them something he has learned. It is a great joy to me to see him as he once was, carefree and eager for life.

The journey has been difficult. Elladan knows that and comes to my aid, standing where he can be of help if needed. But there is light in my heart as I watch Estel run freely at last.

If only his mother were here to share his pleasure. If only my wife, my dearest partner, were here to see him, my last son.

"Papa!" he calls. "May I see my tree now?"

"Not yet. You must stable your pony first, then we shall eat. And you, young man, you need a bath." I let the corner of my mouth quirk just a little. He screws up his face, a deep frown between his brows. He is trying to decide, I think, whether to protest or to laugh.

Then he surprises me. He bows deeply, and says, "Yes, my lord. I would not wish to offend you." He stands upright, takes the lead rein and tells his pony, loudly, "Papa says I'm smelly again. I've had enough baths for a whole lifetime and I'm still smelly!"

I hear my twin sons laughing as they lead their own horses and mine away. The sunlight streams into the courtyard and the trees, now in the newest leaf, protect my house from the still-cool breeze. Perhaps we may be granted this summer in safety, that he might be taught so much that he needs to know.

I dismiss the household, who return, talking of Estel – he has grown, they say. He has his colour back, one notes, and his eyes are bright one more, says another. They are right.

I rest in my room for an hour or so, thinking and drafting a plan for Estel's education. Then I hear his light footsteps outside the door, and a knock.

"Come, Estel," I call, and he is there, his clothes changed and hands and face washed.

"May I see my tree now, Papa?"

His request puzzles me. He is free to go where he likes, within some bounds. Then I see in his expression what he wants.

"I shall come with you, if I may," I say, reaching for a book on my desk. It is his record book, with his careful, delicate drawings in it. I take a pencil and give it to him. He smiles, takes the book and then looks at me very seriously.

"You need lots of fresh air," he says. "You've been ill."

I smile, and take his hand. "Then we will have as much fresh air as we can this summer, Estel. Would you like me to fashion you a place where you can swim safely? And I shall make you a flet in the tall tree which looks towards the mountains."

His eyes grow wide. "I can see it, Papa!" he says suddenly. "I can see the view from that tree in my head!"

And I can too. I climbed that tree when first I came to this place and claimed it as my own. A new world it was then, and it is again for the boy who pulls me a little impatiently out into the garden.

Inside the glasshouse it is already hot. The gardener is opening the windows to let in the cooler air. Estel takes off his jacket and hands it to me. I take it automatically and then smile at myself. He needs to be taught to carry his own coat, but not today.

He runs ahead of me and then stops, one hand out, reaching towards the slender sapling that is growing in a large clay pot.

"It is growing well, Papa – look! All the leaf buds have opened, except – oh, this little one here."

I move to stand behind him. He is gently touching the brown casing that keeps one leaf contained and safe inside it.

"Be careful, Estel. It must be left to open in its own time," I tell him. "Have you watered it this morning?" I ask the gardener.

"No, my lord. That was my next task. Here, this water has been warming in the sun. I have been careful not to give the new tree a shock."

A pitcher of water is handed over and Estel carefully sets down his book and pencil to take hold of it. He looks for guidance.

"On the roots," the gardener prompts. Estel pours the water slowly, waiting for it to soak away before pouring some more.

"Will it stay in here all summer?" he asks, running his finger down the rib of one leaf.

"Oh no. It will be too hot in here. It will be planted out in the garden in a month, and I will tend it there. A place will be chosen for it, a sheltered space, for it is slow to get a foothold in the earth."

Estel nods. "I want to stay and draw it, Papa," he says. "Is that all right? Are you feeling tired?"

I am dismissed, most kindly, and I place my hand on his shoulder. "Stay as long as you wish, Estel. When you return, show me what you have drawn."

He nods. His hand already traces the shapes of the first branch, then conveys it to the white page. He is happy and I leave him there.

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Back in the house, I know that what I must do next will not be so happy. Already my twin sons have begun to plan their next foray into the wild. There is much for them to do and they will leave in the morning. We spend time together, looking at maps and information gathered this winter, and plan their journey.

"We must travel north," Elladan says, then points to the map. "Here – that is I where I believe we shall find what we are seeking."

"Yes," his brother concurs immediately, as if in the same breath. "And we must lose no time. Though I wish to stay here this summer. Estel will be older and taller when we return, and we shall not have seen him grow."

There is a moment's silence for that loss, then Elladan asks again after my own health.

"I am recovered," I say. "And I am, it seems, under Estel's care, so all will be well. Legolas will be here in a few days, I believe. Will you meet with Glorfindel?"

"Yes, Father," Elrohir says, re-folding the map carefully and placing it on the shelf. "When we return, he will return with us."

"Then we have happy times to look forward to," I say, clasping each of my sons by the hand. "And I shall keep Estel safe, and he will look after me, and all will be well."

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But the next morning, as Elrohir and Elladan leave, Estel becomes suddenly frightened for them and runs from one to another, until my sons promise him they will return. When he returns to me he is breathless and trembles with sorrow, but he does not cry. They wave, and are gone.

"Come, Estel. Time for your lessons."

"They will come back, won't they, Papa?" he says, his face pale with grief.

"They always have done. They are not gone far and they will be with Glorfindel. He will keep them safe."

"Glorfindel! Will he come back here soon? It is so long since I saw him. I remember him teaching me how to hold his sword, though I could barely get my fingers around it."

"He did?" I did not know of this little adventure. Estel must have been five when Glorfindel was last here. He has been on a long journey and I will be very glad to see him again.

"He held it too," Estel amends quickly. "Oh, now I wish for summer to go, so that I will see everyone again, yet I wish for it to stay so that I can learn to swim like a fish and climb trees like a squirrel. Can you really make me a safe place to swim in the Bruinen? It runs so fast – and it is so cold! Even at midsummer it is cold."

"Yes, Estel, I believe I can. I know of just the place, too, though we may have to clear a channel. Oh – and, child, do not wish this summer away. Time is precious and we must try to make the most of it."

For it is so short, your life, I thought. Even the life of one of your blood is but a blink of an eye in all the long history of time.

I watch him return to the house, note his attempt to walk tall and not give in to his sadness, and I look forward to a long, happy summer. Building a flet. At my age. What was I thinking when I promised him that?


	52. Summer 2

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

(The stone is a little invention of my own – I hope it works. I think we're over that bridge! Very grateful thanks for the feedback, everyone).

The river is all sparkles. It's singing to me about far off places and snow and high mountains. One of these days I'll go there and watch the snow melt and turn into a little stream. Too cold for me to put my hand in, Papa says. Well, this isn't much warmer. I wiggle my fingers around in the pool. I crouch right down but the light's all wrong and I have to move round again to see the trout that is swimming just out of reach.

"Estel! Leave him alone! If you catch him, I'll ask you to put him back. Old Brown has lived in that pool as long as you have lived here."

I sigh. I know it's rude, and Papa's right, but I think Old Brown must be nice and big and tasty now, and I wouldn't mind having him for supper. I sit back a bit and squint up at Papa, who is sitting on the bank with his eyes closed.

"How did you know?" I ask. "How did you know I was trying to tickle him?"

"You're my son, are you not?"

I crawl up the bank and sit next to him, closing my eyes. My fingers are stinging with the cold so I stick my hands inside my jacket.

"Yes," I say, even though I know it's not really really true. But that's only words. "But how did you know?"

"Old Brown is a challenge. You rarely leave a challenge untouched."

We are silent for a long time. The river is making such sweet music that after a while I begin trying to whistle to it, though I haven't really found out how do that. Halbarad tried to teach me but I don't think my teeth are right yet. There's one wobbly one at the side now that can't decide if it's coming out today or tomorrow or when it's coming out. My tongue won't leave it alone.

"I'll teach you the tune tonight," Papa says, sitting up slowly. "You can make up a new verse for the song if you like. Old Brown deserves a verse of his own."

"It is in the old language?" I ask him. I have two languages in my mouth, the language the elves speak which he says is called Sindarin, and the Common Tongue that everyone speaks. Or most people do, anyway. He says even orcs can speak it. But the old language, well, I can't get my tongue round that yet. I think I only know about three words, and they're not enough to make a whole verse.

"We can write it in Common Tongue, if you like. Then you can teach it to Halbarad. He should be here in a day or so. Are you lonely, child?"

"The house is very big without Elladan and Elrohir. But I don't mind. There's so much to do." I think of the last week and the new books I have read and the map I'm making, and the tree unfurling its last leaf – unfurling – I love that word. I said it lots of times until Papa said he wasn't sure he liked the word any more. And now we are here, and we're supposed to be scouting the place for my swimming pool but all Papa has done is rest.

"That's good. You're a very independent-minded boy. Now, just go up a little further. I'm sure that old pool is here somewhere."

"All right, Papa. I'll go and have a look."

So I leave him on the bank and he watches me and waves when I get a little further away. The rocks are a bit slippery here because it's near one of the little waterfalls that come down the side of the valley. There's a big rock and the water slides over it. The rock is covered in little ferns and moss with big tufts sticking out of it. If I was as small as a beetle this would be a forest.

I take a bit of a wide step and then nearly fall but I manage to grab the rock and keep my balance. I know Papa is watching so I wave as soon as I am safe. The rock has an odd feeling to it. It's much rougher than the rest, which is strange because everything else is smoothed off by the water. I try to move it and I find it's a little bit loose. But it's big and if I move it too much I don't think I'll be able to hold it. I give it one last push.

It falls, and I only just jump back out of the way in time. It leaves a hole in the rock and I am just about to put my hand in there when a shadow falls across the water.

"No, Estel. Let me put the stone back in its place. There," Papa picks up the stone and replaces it. "Let us not disturb the plants and insects that live here. Come – it is time we looked for your swimming place properly. Come, boy." He takes my hand but I don't want to leave. I know there is something special here but Papa will not tell me what it is. I will find out, though. I will.

We spend at least half the afternoon wandering about, lifting stones and looking at small pools. I don't think this swimming pool really exists, or if it did, it was three thousand years ago or something and everything's changed in all those winters. My back is getting tired from bending and my eyes are watering from the sun on the water but Papa is now moving more quickly and he's out a bit further into the river.

"Yes!" he says. "It was here! Look – see where these flat stones go out into the river? If we clear these stones and send the river round here a little way, then I think – yes! Come here and see."

I step over to where he stands and look. The water here is only an inch deep and it trickles quite slowly for many feet until it falls into a pool, where the colour is deeper and the water turns in a slow circle.

"As it runs over the stones it warms a little, and the pool holds it long enough to warm it more. It is very safe for people who want to learn to dive and to swim well. The twins were swimming here when they were three years old." Papa smiles and I know he can see them there as they once were. Well, it may be warm enough for elves but it's making me shiver even to think about it. The time I was caught by the river and nearly drowned, and when I had to sit in that boat with the river flooding by me comes back to me. I don't want to be in this place any more.

Papa knows. He comes and stands right by me, and his hand is on my shoulder and the water is all a thousand little points of light.

"Don't worry. I shall swim with you. It will be good for me."

I can't think of anything to say so I stand and feel Papa close to me. Then something catches my eye. There is something on the river, a boat, a long boat. It is drifting, and there seems to be no one in it, as far as I can see. It is coming close to shore, following the way of the water I suppose.

Papa's hand grips my shoulder more tightly.

"Go back to the house now, Estel. Tell the masons I have found the place and send them straight down here, before I forget where it is again. Go on now!"

The boat comes closer and I want to see what is in it, so I take a step forward.

"No! You must not look! Go on, now, I will see to the boat. Please, child, do as I ask."

I see blood on the stern now, and something lies within the boat, something, I do not know what. Whatever Father says, I must look, for I am suddenly filled with fear. What if it is Elladan? It could be, couldn't it? I cannot see a face but there is a body, lying in the boat, which comes down on the current.

Papa catches the boat by the bow and looks into it. His face is stern but he seems to know what I fear.

"It is no one I know, child. Please – go now. Fetch some help. We must take care of these poor creatures, whoever they may be. Do not return, Estel, not until I tell you you may."

I run then, and my heart is filled with joy that it is not who I thought, and sadness, for the man had a woman with him and I think she was dead too. It was a very sad thing to see.

I know it is late when I wake. Sometimes, it is difficult to tell, but there is no sound from anywhere in the house and that only happens when it is very late. Then I hear a noise from outside, and I know that is what woke me. I get up and go to the window. The stars are very bright and the moon is full. She casts her silver light onto the world, Papa said, and that's just how it looks, all silver and bright.

Down in the courtyard there's a small group of elves. They are all wearing cloaks and their hoods cover their hands so you can hardly see them glow, which looks very strange to me. Their cloaks are blowing round them. It is very windy. Then I see Papa, holding a lantern. He leads them away, down towards the river, and I wonder what they are doing. Surely they are not burying the two who came in the boat? I must see. I think it is something to do with that stone.

I find something to wear and pull on my boots. I run through the corridors and down to the kitchens, where all is quiet and warm. Out of the back door, and round by the greenhouse. I know my way but the moon is helpful. Such a strange light, not like any other. Then I run down the path for a little way.

The elves are there, and they are singing. I duck off the path a little way and try to follow them noiselessly but I don't think I'm very good at that yet. But it is windy, and the trees are rusting and groaning as the wind knocks them about. All the elves go on their way and don't turn back so I suppose they haven't seen me.

Out here in the night, the sounds are all strange. The high wind and the world is rushing by me and I can't catch my breath and I can't think so I follow them. Papa is there but I wish I was standing next to him instead of trying to get through these woods that grab at me. I pull on a branch to free myself and it cracks but the wind carries the noise away.

I slip down the bank to the river and try to keep in the shadows. A noise comes rushing down with the air. The elves are singing and I can hear them somehow, in bits, some notes clear and then only the wind noise. Then something happens in the air around me and the wind stops blowing so hard. In a few moments it is almost still here, but when I look up the treetops still move.

I think I will be found but I don't mind. I want to be found. I have never seen the wind stop blowing like that before. It is too big for me. I want to move out of my hiding place and be found.

I was right. They are going to the stone and I creep a bit closer, hiding among the rocks and trying not to make a sound in the water. I may want to be found, really, but I am a Ranger and we can hide better than anyone.

Now Papa takes the stone out, and he's holding it in some cloth and he lifts it up to the sky. He's singing, really loudly now. The other elves are standing quietly watching him. He turns in one direction – north, I think, and his song changes. I'm trying to sit still but his voice makes feelings inside me, and I want to dance or sing or move, so keeping where I am is harder and harder.

He sings to the south and the west but not to the east. I think the world has become smaller, so that it's just this little piece of it that is important and I know I am lucky to be here. Though perhaps eavesdropping wasn't a good idea. Maybe I should go away now because I think Papa has finished and he is going to put the stone back.

Then I hear him.

"Estel," he says and my heart jumps and then beats very fast.

"Estel – come here. You pulled the stone from its place – come and put it back. Don't be afraid. Your heart led you truly."

I stand up and walk towards him, and it's as if all I can see is him. I know I am getting wet and slipping on the rocks but it doesn't matter because he is keeping me safe.

I come to stand by him.

"Here, child. Put this stone back now, so that it will be secure for another thousand years. The winter storms exposed it to the world so it is time to replace it. I put this stone near here, oh, many, many seasons ago and its power has been replenished many times now. But this is the first time a man will help to replace it."

"What does it do, Papa?" I ask, then feel silly for asking such a question.

"It keeps us safe, child. It keeps you safe. There is another, across the river, and there are others but this is the first one I set. Here, take it. It won't hurt you."

I take it in my hands and feel again the roughness of it. But it feels different now. It is warm and it makes my hands tingle a little. I think I must have smiled because Papa smiled at me.

A new hole has been hollowed out of the rocks, much deeper than the one I found before. I put it carefully on the edge then push and with a little help I manage to settle it back into the rock firmly, so that it can hardly be seen.

"Keep us safe," I say, which is my own idea. "Because it's a big place and there are many things which are dangerous out there."

One by one the elves set off back up to towards the house but Papa stays, his hand on my shoulder, so I stay too, though my eyes are beginning to close. The wind begins to blow again, and the flame in Papa's torch moves this way and that but it doesn't go out.

"Do you understand what it is to love a place, child?" Papa says, so quietly I wonder if I really heard him. "I never thought to become attached to a place as I have to this river, these woods and this house."

"I love it too, Papa. I'm sorry I ran away."

"Let us speak no more of that, Estel. I see now that you were right even if you did not know it. This place misses you when you are gone, though. Do not stay away from it too long, will you."

"I won't. I promise. Can we go now? I'm tired." And I am, too.

Papa takes my hand. "Come, then. I will put you to bed like I used to. Would you like that?"

As I follow him back up the path, he begins a story, a long story I know well, and I join him in my head as he comes to each important bit in it. I am in bed before I know it.

"Tomorrow, we have a mystery to solve. Estel, next time you want to see something, please, ask me? You do not need to hide yourself in your own home."

My own home. I like the sound of that. My bed is big and comfortable, and Papa tells me the end of the story just as I fall asleep. Stones called Silmarils. Lost, a long time ago. Tomorrow, I am going to have a swimming place all of my own.

I like life.


	53. Summer 3

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

(AN: again, I'm sorry for the delay. There is more to come, all I have to do is write it!)

Elrond continues the story.

Time eludes me, on occasion. When I read, or write. When I listen to those who sing of the past. When I remember.

Estel keeps me to the hours of his world. When he was very small, and his mother still cared for him herself, his cries marked the passage of time. Then she left us and his care became mine. Meals had to be regular, time for play, time for learning and for sleep, time for him to speak and be heard. Time for us to get to know one another.

Which is, I suppose, my rambling confession that I have let him lie sleeping all this morning, when I had said we would see about his swimming place. I have chosen those who will do the work required, and that is well under way, but it had been in my mind to let Estel be in charge of this project, so that he might gain experience of organising a complex task.

So I went to his room this morning, when it was not yet broad daylight, and found nothing more than a breathing lump in the bed. He has been up most of the night, I reason. He has been through a very demanding time. He needs to sleep. I had no choice but to leave him, and now it is past his breakfast and his midday meal. I must wake him now, or he will be awake all night, or too sleep-dazed to be of use today.

Still, the quiet has given me time to send out messages. Perhaps some news will come which will identify the couple who came to us from the river last night. We are preparing for their burial, but it may be that someone is waiting for word of them.

"Estel. Wake up now. Come along, it is time to go swimming."

There is a sound, and a stirring. A face appears, the dark eyes only just open, the mouth already shaped into a yawn.

"Swimming, Papa?" Estel says, with a hint of the plaintive in his voice.

"When you are dressed, and you have eaten something, and we have finished the repairs yes, I think that in an hour or so you might go swimming. If you wish to," I say, as he seems a little more reluctant than I had hoped.

He yawns again. "Can I dive under if I want to?" he says carefully. There is something on his mind. I shall have to lead him gently to telling me what it is.

"Of course. You may even catch a fish, if you are quick."

"Oh. Well, what should I wear? Isn't it going to be cold?"

Ah – that fear surfaced quickly enough. He has every reason to know of the cold waters of the Bruinen.

"You will find it is warmer than you think, my boy. Now, come, get up. Go and wash and I will find the right clothes for you."

Enthusiasm begins to brighten his eyes and he smiles broadly now as he pushes the sheets to the bottom of the bed and swings his legs over the side. Suddenly he stops, a curious expression on his face. He wriggles his toes.

"What is it?" I ask, suddenly concerned. Do his legs hurt him?

"Look!" he says, lifting his feet from the floor then setting them down again.

I cannot see what he is driving at. He sighs, and reaches down to touch his feet.

"They're flat on the floor! I've never been able to put my feet flat on the floor – not flat, all the way down!"

It is a great moment for him. He looks so pleased with himself, at this small accomplishment, that I have to smile.

"Tonight, we will make a new mark for you on the door frame. Then, perhaps, we will see if you are tall enough for your first sword."

Am I indulging him too much? Well, it is too late now. It is said.

He is open-mouthed for a moment. "Really?" he says.

"Yes. Now go and wash!"

They are still hard at work at the swimming place when Estel and I get there. Before long, he is paddling about in the shallows, moving rocks and brushing away the silt. He has taken off his coat and is now wearing the shirt and cut-down breeches I persuaded him to wear, though he looked a little troubled. Doubts about his thin legs are gone in the engineering that now holds his interest.

"This one?" he asks, and my servant nods, then helps him to roll the largest of the stones away. The music of the water changes and memories crowd in on me. There, my two boys, barely two years old and splashing in the water, with their mother and I to help them.

Estel hears the difference too, and runs to me, splashing through the water.

"Can I go in now?" he asks, all his fears gone. "It's not cold. I don't know why, but it doesn't feel cold any more."

"Yes. Take off your shirt, but you may leave your breeches on if you wish. I shall join you."

He shrugs out of his shirt then waits for me to take off my boots and leggings. We walk together to the edge of the water. I give leave for all but one of the servants to return to the house.

Estel stands on the edge of the pool, peering down into it. He does not yet know how to do much more than keep his head above water, and I must remember that.

"Show me how to dive, Papa!" he demands.

"Not from here. It is too shallow. Over here." I move to the large, dark rock from which even my tall sons can dive safely. The water here bubbles from beneath the river bank, and miraculously, it is warmer than the riverwaters. It must come from deep below the surface. But I have not told Estel this yet, and he puts his toe into the water with great care.

"Oh – it's not so cold! And it's deep – it's very deep."

"We do not have to start here. We can sit over there, where it is shallow, if you want."

"I'd like to be able to dive by the time Halbarad comes, though," he says. His mouth twitches in indecision.

"Then stand like this," and I demonstrate for him, then adjust his stance. "We will just practice standing in the right way, then you can dive tomorrow. I think you had better try swimming underwater before you dive."

So he practises until he feels secure in the right position, then he sits on the edge, dangling his feet in the water.

"I think I'm ready to try swimming now," he says and, before I can say anything, he has slipped off the rock into the water. I have no choice but to follow him and then, as he flounders a little, provide support until he remembers how to stay up.

He has difficulty with the most important part – putting his face in the water. But slowly, by degrees, he manages it without needing to fight his fear and splash and gasp and struggle.

"I did it! I did it!" he shouts, and all Rivendell must hear him, I think. I laugh with him, and splash him, and forget I am Elrond Half-Elven for a blessed time. The trees laugh too, and I know that our adventure will weave itself into song this night.

He is tired now, and I heave him up out of the water. The servant comes and wraps him in a blanket, and makes him laugh again with the fun of being rubbed dry. "I'm hungry!" he says, and, "Are we coming here again tomorrow?" and finally, "Thank you, Papa. This was the best day ever."

I chase him back to the house, both in bare feet, both wet and laughing, and he crashes through the front door, shouting, "I'm first! I won!"

I follow him, acknowledging defeat and am about to send him upstairs to change when a delegation of startled men catch my attention.

Can I never have a day's peace?

"My Lord," says one, bowing.

"Yes? What is it?" I say, short of patience with this interruption.

Estel is holding his blanket tightly around himself, uncertain now what to do.

"We came about – about the two who you found. In the boat, my Lord. If it not convenient . . ."

I summon what little dignity I can muster, and say, "Of course. Allow me a few moments to dress and I will attend you. Have you had refreshment?" I am acutely aware of the water dripping from my tunic onto the floor, but I try to ignore it.

"We were about to …" another begins.

"Then please, I will only be a moment."

I hear a sound from behind me. Estel is trying with all his might not to laugh.

"Upstairs," I whisper to him. "Now!"

Thankfully, the delegation of serious, dark-clad men has returned to the room in which they were waiting.

What they are saying about me, I hardly dare to think.

Their story, when I am collected enough to hear it, is a sad one. I just wish I had known Estel was sitting on the bottom step listening to it.

Two lovers, cast out by their families for conceiving a child before they were wedded according to custom.

"But why did they die?" I ask. "We have been unable to find the cause of their deaths."

An old man, his face lined and grey with care, stepped forward. "It is my belief they died of a poison known to our people, Master Elrond. If I had known of their intention, I would have spoken to them – I would have found the words, I would." He grasps the edge of the table. "She was my grand-daughter. I would gladly have taken them in, had I known. She has killed the child too, my great-grandchild."

I do not know what to say to give this old man any comfort. If the boat had drifted to me faster, perhaps I could have stopped this tragedy. I have antidotes. I could be caring for them now, ready to return them to this man who so dearly wishes them to return.

Then I hear sobbing from the hall, and know it is Estel. I give the old man into the care of his friends, promising at least that the little family will be buried decently, and go to sit next to him on the step.

"I don't understand," he says, wiping his eyes. "Why does making a baby mean they have to die?"

"In truth, I do not understand either. Elves – we – well, I will explain it all to you one day. Humans conceive more - more easily then we. They – you – will live a shorter time then we, yet you may have many children. I know, it is difficult for you to imagine. You may meet someone, in the future, who will change your mind."

He shakes his head sadly. "If making babies causes so much trouble, I think I will not do it," he says, with all the worldly wisdom he can summon. I must teach him of the words and the actions of humans soon, so that he will be able to give voice to these new ideas.

"Well, not yet. Not for a long while, perhaps." For you may be a king one day, I think, and you will have need of a good consort, to love you and share your life.

"No. Not for a long, long while."

It is a sad and thoughtful Estel who stands, and pauses before he goes back upstairs.

"May I go to the funeral, Papa?" he asks. "Would I be in the way?"

"Are you sure? It will be a very sad occasion."

"Yes, Papa. I want to go." When I nod, he nods too, then climbs the stairs slowly, trailing his hand up the banister.

I frown, sad that his best day has been overshadowed. But it was ever thus. His name is still Estel, still hope. There will be other good things for us to do. Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall help him to dive and the world will seem a little better again.

I return to my guests, to see to their quarters for the night and discuss the rituals for tomorrow. When at last I am free of these duties, I go to check that Estel is asleep.

He is, as ever, in a tangle of blankets, one arm outstretched, the other behind his head. He is warm, and safe, and well, and for that I am grateful. I make sure his feet are covered and leave him. My brave boy.


	54. Summer 4

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

(A.N. Humble apologies for letting this slip. One thing and another and all that. I am hoping there will be more at some point in the not too distant future.)

Estel takes up the story again

I go with Papa and we bury the people. I hold his hand, and stand with him and watch the old man as the coffins go into the ground. I've never seen such sadness in anyone. Never.

It is a very beautiful place, a grove, Papa calls it, with trees that reach their fingers right up to the blue sky and there are little flowers all over the ground, little white flowers with feathery leaves. I pick some of them and put them into the hole with the coffins. The two people and the baby are together now, and I think they are happy somewhere, though I don't know where. The trees are very quiet while we sing for the family, then as we turn back to the house the wind blows, and the leaves rustle together. It is a happy sound in that sad place.

The old man and his friends break their fast with us and everyone is very quiet until Papa speaks.

"Be comforted," he says. "Death does not separate those who love one another. They will always be with you, and with each other."

The old man nods, and gives Papa a gift, a small box.

"For the boy," he says, then he takes his leave.

Papa looks inside the box and smiles.

"Come here, Estel. Look. It is for your future." He holds the box out. Inside, a golden bracelet, the gold twisted round and round. It is too small even for me and my wrists are still little sticks. I so want them to be strong but they're just knobbly.

"But it's too small for me. I'd have to get smaller to wear it."

Papa smiles. "Not for you, Estel. For your children. And until that happens, I'll keep it safe for you."

I can't think of anything to say. I wouldn't mind a baby brother, or a sister, even, but children? Me? A hundred questions come into my mind all at once but as soon as Papa speaks I know I won't get any answers today.

"Now, do you want to learn to dive or is it not the right thing to do today?" He looks at me, and he's smiling and his eyes are smiling too.

I suddenly see in my head the river and that deep, mysterious hole. I want to conquer my fear of the surface of the water. I have still too many bad thoughts about rivers and swimming. It is time I stopped thinking about them.

"Yes, please! It is warm today and I want to dive and swim and everything!"

So we go, and I learn not to notice too much the change from air to water, the way my face feels and my lungs, and finally, just before we go back, I learn to open my eyes underwater.

But as we walk back to the house, Papa speaks to me of the morning.

"Estel – if ever – and I mean ever – you keep a secret from me again, whatever it is, whatever you may have done or not done, I shall – Estel, I don't know what I shall do. We must have no secrets. If those young people had spoken to their grandfather, or to their friends, or to someone who could have helped them, then all would have been well. Nothing good can come from holding such secrets."

I suddenly want to tell him everything that has been on my mind, every single little thought I have ever had. I promise it, lightly, too easily for him I think, for he makes me sit, with my blanket wrapped round me, and promise it again. Never, never to keep secrets from him. I say the words he wants me to say, and I am happy to say them and mean to keep my word forever. I've done some silly things and I'm not going to do them any more.

As I go to bed, and try to lie still, I plan all the things I am going to do tomorrow

xxxxxxxx

"No! Please – can't it go there?" I wave my hand at Papa, and he moves to check the branch I have chosen. I like it because it's the one that is on the side of the main roadway to the house, so I can watch people as they come to visit. It is also higher than the one he was showing me first.

"The trunk is suitable," Papa says, testing it carefully. "But it is too high. Perhaps this one?" He shows me one that I can almost touch if I reach up.

"But flets are high up in trees, aren't they?" I ask, trying to think why mine has to be nearly on the ground. I can climb trees. Right to the top. Why can't my flet go there?

"This is your first. It will be a little closer to the ground. The next will be higher."

"Can you help me up there, so I can have a look?" I say. I'd climb it myself but there's nothing to hang or step onto as far as I can reach up.

"There'll be a ladder there soon," he says, putting his hand to the trunk of the tree again. "Be patient."

I sigh and sit down on the grass. I don't much like being patient. Papa looks and looks, tests, then he sits on the branch and closes his eyes!

I know I sound a bit cross when I ask what he's doing, and I know I still look cross when he ignores me and I know I shouldn't have walked away to see how my tree was doing. So I don't quite hear him when he calls me, and when he comes over to stand near me I don't notice him, or I don't want to notice him.

"Estel?" he asks, and he's very quiet. "Do you still want me to make this for you? You know I can't make it just as you want, don't you?"

I look up at him. He's still very tall. "Yes," I say. "Please. But what do you mean, it won't be just as I want?"

He puts his arm round my shoulders and guides me to sit on a bench in the shade. He takes a leaf from the ground. "A flet is like a leaf, just settled against a tree trunk. It can be the work of an hour to build, or of much careful thought and artistry. This will be the first built for you, and it must be right. It must be safe, too. Not too high."

"But Papa!" I say, but he doesn't seem to hear me. He's just looking at the leaf.

"A simple railing, I believe. And ropes, here, and here. And a good sturdy ladder. Perhaps a curve in the flet, like this," he says, pulling the leaf into another shape.

"A railing?" I say, my heart heavy. "And ropes?"

"Oh yes. It should be easily accomplished, though it will take another two days to build. But all will be well! If we start small and low, you will soon accustom yourself to the feel of a flet. Not in a wind, though. When you are older …"

I hate those words. I want to be older but I can't grow big any faster, can I? And now I have to have a baby flet, not a proper one, high up in the tree, like I thought I would. And I'm going to be tied in. I just know I am.

"Shall we go and see the carpenter now? I have all the measurements I require."

I think about my promise not to keep secrets and wonder if telling him I don't want the flet now is a secret. But he's walking so fast now I can hardly keep up and I don't get a chance to say anything.

The carpenter's workshops are full of the most interesting things. I can smell pine and sawdust and, well, lots of things without names too. I'm not allowed in here on my own in case I damage something and it's a long time since I was here. There's a big carving at the back, near the biggest window, half covered with a cloth. The carpenters are hard at work at lots of benches and I want to look at everything they're doing. I watch but try to pretend I'm not watching in case it's rude.

"Do you want to try, young master Estel?" one of them asks. He stands, holding out the woodworking tools in his hand.

"Yes, please!" I say. "What's this?"

He has given me a hammer thing, made of wood. It's a beautiful shape, a big block of wood with a handle through it, and it's smooth and worn so that I can feel where a hand has held it.

"A mallet," the elf says. "I have had it a long time."

With elves, a long time could mean a really, really long time. Like hundreds of years. At least.

"How do you use it?" I ask, trying to use it like a hammer but in the air. I don't want to hit anything it with in case I do it wrong.

"Here," he says. He pushes me forward and I settle on his round stool. I can barely see over the top of the bench.

"A moment, young master," he says. I stand again, and he turns the seat round and round. It moves up until it's the right height for me.

"Oh!" is all I can say. I want one of these!

"Now, take this chisel – be careful. The end is sharp, to cut the wood. There, hold it tight. Try on this piece of wood here. I'll put it in the vice for you. Tap it gently. Gently!"

I follow the instructions as carefully as I can, though I want to make something straight away. The wood shavings curl up from the wood if I hold the chisel right, and I try to keep the cuts straight but they're very wobbly to start with. When they're a bit straighter I'm so pleased I start laughing and I know some of the other carvers are staring at me. So I try to concentrate.

When my hand starts to get tired, the carver takes the piece of wood out of the vice and gives it to me. I think it might be a – well, you could use it as – it looks a little bit like a spoon, so long as you don't turn it upside down.

"Thank you," I say, looking at the place where I've been working. "Look, Papa!" I dodge between the tables and search my father out.

He is talking to someone who is even taller than he is and he hardly notices me. I turn my spoon around in my hands and wait a little while before I ask him again.

"Look!"

Even then he doesn't stop talking, so I tug on his sleeve.

"Wait a moment," he says, looking at a large piece of paper they have spread out on the high desk. "I shall show you the plans and you may choose a design to carve onto the flet, if you wish."

I slip the spoon into my pocket and frown. Father does not seem to be listening very well today.

"Come and sit up here, then."

I have to climb up onto the high stool. There, in front of me is the most beautiful drawing I have ever seen. High in the trees, the leaf flet is just there, and it doesn't seem to be held up by anything, not even a stem or a twig or anything. It is green and gold, and it has lines in it, just like a real leaf.

"This is going to be mine?" I say, quietly, in case it isn't true.

"It won't look exactly like this," Papa says. "It will be a little lower. And you know already that it will have railings."

"And ropes, my Lord," says the tall elf.

I slip off the stool, and put my hand in my pocket, feeling the spoon there.

"I'll just go and – and make something else," I say.

Papa nods and begins to draw railings on the beautiful picture. He's spoiling it. But he must be right. He knows everything, so he must be right. So I must be wrong.

I wander outside, across a yard which has one really big yew tree growing over it, then into another big workshop. There's only one person there, and he is working slowly, chipping away at a grey piece of stone. I wander closer and he looks up.

"Greetings, little master," he says.

"Hello. What is that going to be?" I ask him.

"Look." He is kind, I can tell that from the way he looks at me. I go to the piece of stone and find it is a grave marker. He is working on a carving and I can see the outline of a boat. It is very beautiful and I go to run my hand over it.

"It's for them, isn't it. For the people who came down the river."

"It is. I will take special care with it."

"Could you put some of those white flowers on it? The ones that grow by the grave?"

"Anemones? Yes, master, I will put anemones on it. I hear Master Elrond is making something for you."

I watch as the stone carver goes back to work with the chisel, making little chips of stone fly into the air.

"Everything that is made here is beautiful," I say. "Isn't it?"

"We try to make it so," he says, dusting the surface with a soft brush. Already, the shape of the flower is there in outline. Just a few cuts of the chisel made it so.

I nod and sit, leaning my head on my hand.

"Estel?"

It is Papa, and I must go back to the house now for lessons. Everything here is beautiful. So how is it that I know my flet will be not beautiful? It will be killed, somehow. It's a silly way to say it but I don't know how else to describe what I feel. Its beauty will be killed by ropes and ladders and railings. All because I am too little and edan.

I must learn how to do things for myself, as quickly as I can. I must grow up but I am not going to have babies, not even to wear that bracelet. Because I'd be a Papa then, and I'd have to be right all the time. And that is not ever going to happen.

No babies for me. Well, at least I'm right about that.


	55. Summer 5

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

(A.N. Thanks so much for reading and leaving a review – it's been tough getting going again but encouragement has been most welcome and is truly appeciated. As I write from Legolas' point of view, I think I have in mind Orlando's Legolas staring, bewildered, after Aragorn's tumble off the cliff in the Two Towers, as if he still can't quite understand what being human really means. I don't think he'll ever quite get it.)

Legolas

Elrond's woods are a pinprick on the maps compared to the vastness of my home. Yet these woods are light, and they sing of ancient truths while too much of Mirkwood is dark and, though we fight it, evil still creeps into the deep, silent places in our woods. Here in Rivendell, I know all will be safe, and I ride with joy in my heart through the new-leaved trees, my eyes filled with the blue of bell flowers, the white of wild herbs, the last fading yellows of spring as we move to the pinks and reds of summer. I am singing, and the elves who greet me from the dells and wooded slopes return the song. It is summer, and I am going to see if Estel is happy and well now.

I have brought no present this time, save my knowledge of archery. I shall begin to teach him this summer. Not that Master Elrond has no means of his own of teaching him, but it was in my hands to help him to make the bow and it will be in my hands to give him the use of that bow.

As I ride the steep road to the house, I hear a whistle and a greeting. There, in the lower branches of one of the largest trees, not far from the Last Homely House, Estel stands and waves. He is smiling his welcome.

"Your flet is made, then," I say, stilling my horse just by the platform.

Estel's expression changes. "Yes. Papa had it made, and I helped. But it had to have extra bits, just for me, and it's not very high off the ground. Look, I could just step onto your horse's back from here!"

"My horse is steady but I think he would find a human boy stepping onto his back a little distracting," I say, and Estel grins.

"Well, I just meant, it's like – it's like a baby's flet, not a boy's flet. I don't need this stuff to keep me safe."

He runs his hands over new-cut, undecorated railings, which do change the simple platform into a safer place for a boy. If the railings were carved, with ivy perhaps, they would be less troubling to the eye. For they seem to unbalance the flet, spoiling the nature of the wooden platform my people have used for so many years. They are meant to complement a tree but this platform does not. I believe I can understand Estel's clear disappointment.

"Not a baby's, surely. Master Elrond does this only to keep you safe. Here – may I ascend?"

"May you what?" he says. "Oh – you mean – yes, please. We could plan an adventure or something." His cheerfulness is gone, and he picks at a rough place in the wood with his forefinger.

I tether my horse and climb the rope ladder. It is not necessary for me but it is Estel's flet and it costs me nothing to be courteous.

"You can see a good way down the road from here," I say, leaning against the railing. "And I didn't see you until I was quite close."

"Really?" Estel says. "I did think carefully what to wear and I have been very still. But I thought you'd see me very easily."

"I cannot see through leaves and branches. I am but an elf, not a wizard. Now, tell me what you have seen today."

"Don't you want to go and see Papa? He told me to bring you straight to him."

"I believe we have a little time yet."

So he tells me of the hawk he watched, circling in the sky. And the young squirrels, chasing round the trunk of the next tree. Yet all the time, he picks at the wood of the railing, as if, given enough time, he could unmake them.

He falls silent. Then he sits down and dangles his feet over the edge of the platform.

"Are you going to teach me to pull a bow properly?" he asks. "I think I need to have more muscles." He holds up his arm and flexes it. "Elladan and Elrohir, they're all muscle in their arms. I'm just thin."

"Then we shall work this summer, while I am here. I shall set you a course to run, with targets set at intervals, and we will see if you can run a little faster each day, and hit each target from a little further away."

"That sounds fun," he says, brightening. "I've forgotten when Halbarad is coming, but he can do it too, when he does. Can he?"

"I shall handicap him," I say, thinking how this might be done. "He is a little older than you, and a little stronger, though I think you will grow to match him soon enough."

"It is hot out here, isn't it!" Estel says. He does not know that I do not feel heat or cold as he does. But there is a heaviness in the air, and a stillness which tells of a storm to come. Perhaps late afternoon. There will be plenty of time to arrange the course before the rain.

"Then let us go in. Perhaps there will be something cool to drink?"

"Oh, yes!" he says, and he launches himself off the edge of the flet before I can warn him. He lands neatly, then looks back at me. "Don't tell Papa!" he says, and I know he means me to keep his secret. He does not need the rope ladder or the railings – but perhaps it is as well that Elrond did not place the flet any higher.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I greet Master Elrond, and we talk while Estel refreshes himself with a cool drink. He has already fetched his bow and arrows, and sits pulling at the string until Elrond sends him to the kitchen with the glass.

"Tell me," he says. "What do you have planned for Estel?"

"I thought to set him a course," I say. I tell him the details of the training I have planned and wait for approval. I realise that I should not have told Estel. If Elrond tells me it is not a sound idea I shall abandon it but Estel will then be disappointed.

"And you will run this course with him, and guide him?"

I had not thought to do that but I readily agree. "I will, my lord. And it will be easy, but not so easy that he will tire of it quickly."

He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, then asks after my father. We speak for a while, until Estel is there at the doorway, hanging onto the handle and asking if it is time to start yet.

"I have not had time to lay out the course for you yet," I say.

"But I can help you!" he says, and I hear Elrond's snort of laughter.

"You had best let him," he says. "I am not going to entertain him while he waits for you!"

Elrond stands, gathering his robes round him. Estel comes into the room properly.

"Now," Elrond says, and he is stern. "I do not wish to be drawn from my study by tales of you falling into rivers, climbing tall trees or fighting anything. Do you hear me? If there is any fighting to be done you will allow Legolas to do it. You will concentrate on running fast and hitting the targets. Do I make myself clear?"

Estel looks down at his feet. "Yes, Papa," he says solemnly. "I mean, no, Papa."

"Good. Now, I give him into your charge, Prince. You will return him to me safely at the end of the day."

I find myself tempted to look at my own feet but restrain myself. "Yes, my lord," I manage before I take Estel's hand and we go outside set a course worthy of a son of Elrond. A nine year old son. I must not forget that he is nine and not an elven child.

Yet it is hard to remember that, once we have started our task. I know these woods well, as does Estel, and the challenge is to make the course interesting yet not so difficult as to discourage him.

We begin by seeing how far he can run, not quite flat out, before he has to stop to catch his breath. Over-heated, he pulls off his jacket and then wonders what to do with it. In the end, he bundles it up, pushes it under a rock and tells me he'll come back for it later.

"It's too hot!" he complains, as if I hadn't guessed why he's removed it. "I wish there was a breeze."

"Let us go a little higher, then, and a little closer to the waterfall. Perhaps the air is stirring there."

It is uneven ground, tumbled rocks and rivulets and tree roots, so he has to watch his step. I keep pace, making sure that all is well, and when he stops, I mark the place. First, we pause by a rock larger than any we have come across so far. I look around, and there is a dead tree some twenty paces away.

"Here!" I call over the steady roar of water. The fall, off to our right, moves the air, yet Estel still wipes sweat from his forehead. It was a steep climb. "This will be your first target. Do not try it yet – we will run the course properly tomorrow."

"Not today?" he says. "Not even later?"

He is leaning against the rock, still panting a little. As soon as I notice his expression I feel I am beginning to learn the power of a boy's disappointment in shaping decisions.

"Perhaps later, if it does not rain," I concede. Yet I wish I had not. He will be tired, especially in this airless weather. Then he will make mistakes and the good work of teaching him resilience and building his stamina will have had a bad start. I will have to ensure that I find a way to delay the first run round the course until tomorrow.

So I take my time, ensuring he knows the way, picking suitable targets and then rejecting them, until he is sitting cross-legged on the ground waiting for me to make up my mind.

"Can't I at least try these two targets out?" he says. "Then perhaps you can choose which is the better one?"

I pause, then come to sit next to him. "In a moment. Let us rest. This beech tree is one of the youngest in the wood. Did you know beech trees are called the queen of the woods?"

"No. This particular tree, or all beech trees?" Estel picks up some of last year's mast and turns the sharp-edged seed case round in his fingers.

"All beech trees. Though I suppose your grandmother in Lothlorien would say it is some other tree. She has charge of the most ancient trees."

"She does? Do you mean Gala – Galadriel? I want to visit her but Papa says it is too far. Is she really my grandmother? Or is she a foster grandmother? Can you have foster grandmothers?"

"Perhaps, one day, you and I will go there together," I say, a little troubled that I have stepped into a subject Elrond does not wish Estel to know too much about. "Come now – let us run back to the house, for that circle of grass there will be the last target."

"Then can we run the course?" Estel says, jumping to his feet. "I want to do it now!"

On the eastern horizon, a bank of clouds has been building. The first, far-distant rumble of thunder makes the boy turn his head.

"There's going to be a thunderstorm, isn't there?" His face has changed. There is a tension there now, an apprehension I have not seen before.

"Yes, but it will not be here yet. Let us go to the house, and you can prepare yourself. If the rain has reached us by the time you are ready we will have a game indoors. If not, and the storm is still far away – look, it may slip down into the plain without coming near here – then we will run the course once today."

"All right," he says, though he doesn't look at me but stares off into the distance, where another deep, shaking roll of thunder comes to us through the still woodland.

"But I don't like thunder. Or lightning. I'm not afraid of them," he says quickly, now glancing at me. "But it is not safe in these woods in a thunderstorm, Papa said."

"There is nothing to be afraid of," I say. "But you are right. If the storm comes, we will be safe in your father's house, and we will watch it together from there."

He nods and we walk back to the house, passing by his tree and admiring its growth, now nearly half as a tall again as he is. Then inside, where he goes to the kitchen for some food and I go to my room, to waste a little time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The storm approaches only slowly, and Estel and I watch it from his balcony. He is impatient to begin yet the storm troubles him, each rumble of thunder new cause for him to watch, and frown. It is not long before he asks for the third time if we should not start, before the storm.

"Take your bow and your arrows," I tell him, unable to think of another way to distract him. Perhaps it will start to rain if I find a way to delay just a little more. "Do not begin without me!"

"Yes," he says, and runs off. I go to find Lord Elrond and we speak for a little while of Estel's progress, then he asks where he is.

"I am hoping it will rain," I say. "He should not be in the woods in a thunderstorm."

"No, indeed," says Elrond. "He has been afraid of thunderstorms since he was a very small boy. He has tried to conquer that fear but we have always been there to give him comfort. You have not allowed him outside, I hope."

I hear thunder again, much closer.

"I told him to go to the start of the course, but I am sure I told him not to start without me. I thought to spend a few moments with you and by then, it would have started to rain and we would have to return to the house."

"Then you had best go and fetch him, before he decides that you truly meant him to begin the course. He has little patience. He is an obedient child but he has no sense of time, and he does not always hear the 'no' in a command."

"I was most firm," I say, hoping I had said the right words and wishing now that I had made him promise to wait.

"Go, Legolas. Bring him back to the house before it begins to rain. He is tough but the task of drying boys who look like drowned rats is not a pleasant one."

I do not doubt that Elrond is speaking from experience and that I will be the one delegated to dry Estel should he get wet, so I turn on my heel and run as quickly as I can to the starting point. Stay there, I am sure I said that.

Yet, as I run to the start of the course, with the sky purple above me and the thunder close, and large, heavy drops of water falling, darkening the ground, I begin to doubt that I found the right words to keep an impatient boy from starting out on his own.

Estel is not there. All I can see are new, small footprints heading away into the woods.


	56. Summer 6

Summer 6

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.)

A.N. Sorry for the – er – slight delay there. More to come, I hope.

Estel

"Papa! Papa!"

It's no use. The sound of the river is too strong. No one can hear me. I have called and called and it is getting darker now. I am so cold. My feet felt burned and now I can't feel them at all, and my hands are red and white and freezing.

How did I get stuck? I don't even remember now. The water noise is like my father's robes, the silk moving as he walks. I know that sound so well, and the soft step of his boots on the floor, coming to my room, coming to save me. But this is much louder and it's filling my head until I can't think any more.

I wish I could help him find me, but my foot is stuck. It went in there easily, between the two stones before I could stop it but now I can't get it out. I almost did, pulling my foot nearly out of the boot but the rock moved and now I can't move it at all. The rock or my foot. Both. They're not moving at all now.

I watch the water fly by. In the middle of the river, the water is slipping so fast away from me, but near the bank, here, it's got little waves and they come towards me, lapping, and lapping, the same little waves all the time. It is making me sleepy.

I would like to sleep now, but the cold wakes me up when I try. This little cave, it doesn't want me to sleep but it doesn't want me to go, either. I think it likes me being here, and it's got me trapped but I don't know why.

"Legolas!" Even an elf wouldn't hear that. I'm sure the water is drowning all the sound I can make.

The sky is so pale blue now, and there are pink clouds and it's the end of the day. If I sit here and count to ten slowly, Papa will come. I know he will. Should I count in my people's language, in the Common Tongue or in Papa's language?

The water sounds fill my head and I can barely keep my eyes open. I look out across the water, to the tall trees all black against the sky. They reach upwards, running towards the sun and it's as though they've been frozen there, as if they once grew really fast and now have to barely grow at all. I don't know if I'm saying it right, or saying anything, but what else can I do but look at them?

"Papa! Please come and rescue me now! Papa!"

The cold wakes me up again. Something is different. I can feel something in me is different now. I feel I have gone a long way away and have just come back for a few moments.

Something brought me here, into the world again. There. It's a light, and it's on the river. But I don't care any more. It may be a boat, or it might be something else, I don't know what. How can they see me, lying here, all dark against the rocks? And if I shout again, how will they hear me this time when they have not heard me before?

I will try. One last time, I will try. I push myself up, and pull back my sleeves to show my white arms against the dark. And I wave and I shout.

The boat slides by. It didn't even pause. I settle back where I was, and wait for whatever happens next. I wonder what it will be like. Where will I go? Will I see my father? And what about my mother? She has not left the world yet, only me. I mean, she's only left me. I'm the one who's going to leave the world.

Another boat, with lamps in the bow, and tall people looking out for me. I cannot even move for them now. They will not find me. I am too small, and I am not elf and I don't glow, not like Legolas. If I could glow. That makes me laugh, me, like a glow-worm, that's what I am, a worm that glows. A small cold worm.

"Estel!"

Someone just called me! Suddenly I don't want to go from the world into whatever comes when you die, I want to stay here and be rescued, and told off, and shut in my room forever, it doesn't matter, as long as it is my room and I am warm and I have some food. I will stay there for ever and ever.

Then a boat comes right up to the bank, and hits the rocks with a big thump, and people are getting out of the boat, too, slipping on the rocks just like I did, when I came here out of all the thunder and lightning. All that time ago.

"Estel! Oh, my son!"

And it is Papa, come to save me at last, and there are my brothers, and they have moved the rock off my foot and pushed my boot back on. And now they are carrying me, and saying things, though I cannot hear them because of the river noise in my head, louder still. I am put into the boat, and it's safe in there, covered with blankets and Papa is there with me, and holding me, and he is warm, and his robes make the same rustling sound as the water. But the water is cold, and Papa's robes are warm and soft.

The boat moves, or is it still the river? I stare at Papa's face, and he is looking back at me and he has a smile on his face. He's rubbing my hands and now he's taking off my boots and rubbing my feet. He's saying something to me but I do not know what, and perhaps it is not to me but to Elladan, because my brother sits down with us in the bottom of the boat now, so it's just as warm as it can be there.

"What, Papa? I can't hear you," I say, or I say it in my head, I don't know. I must have said it.

"You are safe now, Estel. You will soon be warm again."

The boat rocks, and I know there is a just the hull of the boat between us and the river but I feel safe now, safe as I would be in a cradle, except I'm much too big for that now.

Elladan is holding something, a little silver bottle, and I drink. The warmth from it spreads inside, and I am beginning to feel my hands now, and my feet. The boat rocks gently and I am falling asleep, but Papa wants me to be awake. He makes me move towards Elladan, who gives me more of the special stuff to drink.

Then Papa stands, and he gives an order, and we come to the bank where the jetty is, and then everyone is singing. I have never heard so much singing, and everyone in Rivendell is there, on the sward, and they are singing. I feel better, warmer, but still I can't move much. I don't want to be carried like a baby though.

"Put me down, Papa! Please. I can walk," I tell him, so he lets my feet dangle until they settle on the ground, and I stand up. My foot is a bit sore now, but that is better than not feeling anything. I hang on to Papa's hand on one side and Elladan's on the other, and I begin to hear what they are singing.

It is about me! It's a welcome song, and it's got me in it! I don't know whether to look at the ground in shame, because it was all my silly fault and they don't seem to know that, or lift up my head and just be pleased to be here, instead of in that little cave.

"Head up, Estel," Papa says. He must know what I am thinking all the time. "We are so glad to have you back. Everyone here is glad, Estel. Look!"

And I do, and everyone is smiling, and I look up, and the house is full of lights and looks so friendly and it's home! Home.

Papa stops, and I do too. Legolas is standing in front of us, and now he kneels.

"Hello," he says, and he reaches out his hand. "I am glad to see you, Estel. I am glad you are safe."

"Me too!" I say, and Legolas laughs, and then looks at Papa, who is smiling at him.

"Would you do me the honour to walk back to the house with me?" Legolas asks. I look up and Papa nods, and Elladan does too. So I step forward, and by now I can feel my feet and my legs enough to walk back to the house, while everyone sings and the stars begin to show in the sky.

It is magical. It is like a party, and it was almost worth being lost to be found again.

And when I am safe in bed, with all the pillows and blankets, and I am beginning to feel sleepy, and my stomach is just nicely full, then my dear father Elrond comes to sit in the room. Tomorrow he will ask me what happened, but I don't care. Tonight I am back in my own bed, and I am happy and that's enough.


	57. Summer 7

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

Summer 7

A month has passed since we welcomed my son home. The weather is warm now, and we are outside in the sunshine, the high colours of summer all around us, a beautifully tended garden for my pleasure and an expanse of grass for his. At the moment, he is playing a game of knucklebones his friend Halbarad brought him. Not long ago, they were running after one another, Halbarad sometimes letting Estel win, then they sat close to me, Halbarad quietly and patiently teaching Estel. He is patient with the game, catching the bones on the back of his hand with some skill, but he is too energetic to be held by it for long. He is taller and stronger than he was a month ago, his foot fully healed and he looks well. There, now, they're racing each other across the greensward again, in light which flickers through the trees, and I rest here, pretending to read, but content to watch them and listen to their shouts of pleasure and triumph.

My only sadness is that Legolas has returned to his own people. He left the day after we found Estel, waiting to be assured that Estel would be well, given a little time to recover, then he departed. I know Estel misses him, and wanted to continue his training with him, yet Legolas has to consider what happened, and his place, his fault in the events of that day. It seems he does not yet know mortals at all, and he must learn before I entrust my boy to his care again.

The game has stopped, for it is the moment Estel has awaited with no great amount of patience for a month now. His tree is to be planted, with a small ceremony, and I believe he regards this as the most important event of the whole summer, even above everything else that has happened. My guests wait in secret for this moment, and I am glad to welcome them to my home. I know Estel will be glad, too.

I put my book aside and stand, gathering my robes around me and walk slowly to join him, while Halbarad steps back.

"It is time, child. Go and tell the gardener to bring forth the tree."

"Really, Papa? Is it now? Where are they going to plant it? How many people are coming? Are you sure it's warm enough now? What will we do if no one else comes?"

Halbarad is smiling broadly but says nothing. Both he and I have been answering his questions for three days now, and he is still not satisfied.

"All will be well, Estel. You know your speech, and you know the song to sing, and you know how to plant the tree. Let that be enough knowledge to carry you through this most important occasion." I put my hand on his shoulder, turn him and then guide him gently in the right direction. "And yes," I say, when he turns, "we will all be here when you return."

He nods and sets off, jogging to the greenhouse to set this ceremony in motion. He turns, waves, nearly trips over his own feet then sets his mind to running with as much dignity as he has left.

"Please return to the house and invite our guests to join us, Halbarad," I tell the older boy. He bows and walks with a good deal more dignity to the house, leaving me with my thoughts. Much will change today, but whether it will be to Estel's liking, and to mine, we have yet to see.

It takes a only a short time for everyone to come to the appointed place, and though it is a small gathering, it does my heart good to see my two elder sons, and Erestor, who has been gone for too long and returned only four days ago. I believe he has been hiding from Estel's boisterousness, but he stands with us now.

And now here comes the procession, led by the gardener, who carries the well-grown tree with great reverence. Her assistants carry water, earth and the stake which will support the tree in its first years. The hole is already prepared. Estel's tree will be placed as close to the house as is safe, so that it might have some shelter. But it will grow into a huge tree in time, and I wonder what it will see in its lifetime. Perhaps this Last Homely House will, at some time in the distant future, be returned to the wilds. It was built so long ago, and has had so many happy voices to fill its rooms with gladness, yet still the sad thread of my wife runs through this house. But now is not the time to remember but the time to celebrate.

Estel is looking only at the tree, just as we devised when we planned this meeting, and he steps forward to take it from the gardener. It is a heavy load, and she shares the burden until together, they remove it from its pot and place it carefully into the hole.

He has a speech prepared and has learned it diligently.

"Papa," he says. "And all my family and friends. This is my tree, and this is its first full day out of the greenhouse." He looks around, then stands still, his expression puzzled as he looks at two women, who stand together, one leaning on the other. One is tall, and wears fine, dark clothing and a narrow silver band in her hair, in honour of the occasion. The other, younger, dark hair in a long plait, wearing the colours of the land, purples and greens. She is thinner even than when I last saw her, and is pale in the sunshine.

Immediately he turns to me, eyes wide, mouth open. "Papa? Is that grandmother? And who is that lady with her?"

"Think, Estel. You know who she is. Look, she is holding her hand out to you."

He glances away, for a moment frowning in concentration. Finally, he looks up at me again and whispers, "Naneth? Is that really Nana?"

"Yes, child – it is your mother. Run to her, Estel – she is calling you."

But he hesitates. It is so long, and she was so distant, so unwell when he was a child. Then she reaches both arms out to him, and his grandmother smiles, and he is gone from my side, forgetting his speech and his tree as he flies across the grass and into her arms, almost knocking her off her feet. There is a murmur from the crowd, who witness this show of affection with pleasure, and Elladan and Elrohir come to stand by my side.

"This is a happy day, Ada," Elrohir says quietly. "Will she stay now?"

"I do not know," I say. "I hope she may. I have tried to be a good father, but he needs her care too, or he will forget how woman should be honoured and obeyed."

"Indeed!" Elladan comments, grinning. "As our sister would teach him, were she here."

"Do not speak of her!" I say, an edge to my voice keeping my elder sons from saying more. Estel must not know of her yet, if ever. She is my most precious daughter and her grandmother holds her safely and teaches her as her mother would have taught her.

The ceremony must wait for a few minutes while Estel hugs his mother, and bows with utmost formality to his grandmother then spoils the formality by hugging her, too. There are smiles, and eyes wiped clear of tears before Estel masters himself and, to my surprise and joy, returns to me.

"Thank you, Papa, for bringing me up here, and for helping me to grow up."

For a moment I think he means to leave me, to return to his own people, although surely they would not let him do this. Then he speaks again, quietly, although no one is listening. All now talk with others as they wait for this interruption to the ceremony to end.

"My mother – may she stay here too now? Will she leave Grandmother and come and live with me now?" His eyes fill with tears. "I hope – I hope she may, if she is well enough."

"Yes, Estel. If she wishes to stay, we will care for her here. But you must know that may not wish to stay."

"I know, Papa. I'll always have you here, though, won't I? And you don't mind having me here, do you?"

The worry in his voice is so easy to still, just with a few plain words. "Yes, Estel, I will always be here for you. Now, go on with your speech. Your tree needs to be planted here, and watered, and cared for, so that it may thrive."

Beyond the deep shadow cast by my tallest trees, which crowd to the edge of this clearing, the air is still cool, and a breeze moves my son's long hair. He has still not braided it. I shall cut it if he will not do so. Or his mother may take on that task. He glances up at me, eyes bright, smile confident and unshadowed at last by any fears or nightmares. His true name has been held from him, and he will grow strong here. He takes a deep breath, and begins his speech once more, in front of all of his family, his high, clear voice carrying easily over the sounds of water and wind.

The tree is planted, and watered, and firmed into place, and he names it Aragorn. I knew nothing of this plan, and glance round, for there is surprise on more than one face.

"Do you mean to call it.." I try hard to gather my wits, "King of Trees?"

He looks at me humbly. "It is a name I heard once, a long time ago. I puzzled over what it might mean and though it might be king of trees. But if it isn't, I can call it something else. Or…"

I will not let doubt mar this occasion. Even if it is not the meaning of the name, I must not let him feel there is any mystery to it or he will never cease to question until he knows what he must not, yet.

"It is a fine name, Estel. Yet it will only be known to us, for it is a high name and too much as yet for such a small tree. Let it be a secret to all of us."

"All right, Papa. It will be its secret name, then. And I will take care to keep its secret." He nods to himself, then kneels down to pat the earth newly dug round the roots of his tree. "My tree," he says proudly. "And I will always try my best to look after you."

And thus Aragorn, whose name truly means Kingly Valour, knelt to give his blessing to the newest of a long line of kingly trees.

My brave boy. My Estel.

The End.

[A/N Thanks to anyone who has read this story or reviewed it. It is at last finished. However, I am planning something new, but I think I might finish it before I start posting next time!]


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